A Lady's Favor (6 page)

The next day, Mathew collected Bianca in his curricle as promised, and they rode through the village, also as promised. She ranted about Lord Strapshire, who had come to dinner the evening before, and been so overbearingly attentive that she nearly screamed out loud. “He could not sit by me without touching me somehow. His hand on my shoulder or at my back. I wanted to throttle him!” She finally resorted to claiming a headache so that she might withdraw from his company.

Mathew hated the idea of that man touching her, but he laughed at her recitation of the events and her spark. It wasn’t that he disliked hearing her complaints against Strapshire—he enjoyed them immensely—but he liked to hear about her life even more.

He asked after how she spent a typical day. Eventually conversation turned to family, and he told her of his older sisters—he was the youngest child and only son. Bianca told him that her brothers would be coming home for summer holiday in another month, and she was excited by the prospect. The timing of their return would coordinate with the plan for Mathew’s affections to wane, but he did not bring that up.

He purchased ices for them both and then stopped to speak with some friends of their parents before beginning the return journey to her family’s home on the west end of town. Mathew’s family estate, Renshaw Place, was along the southern edge, leaving perhaps two miles of woods, cut through with riding trails and walking paths, between their homes.

They had enjoyed nearly an hour in one another’s company, but Mathew wanted more. He had spent time with many young women over the last few years, as his eligibility improved, but none had captured his interest the way Bianca had these last few days. He had begun to think of ways he might suggest they not do so much pretending of their feelings when she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He glanced at her and then, belatedly, realized the reason for her discomfort.

They were passing Tampton’s Road, a rather overgrown path, really, that led to the place of the Incident. He had purposely taken another way around when they were heading
toward
the village, but his thoughts had distracted him to the point where he had not been as considerate for the journey back.

He cleared his throat. “My apologies,” he said. “I had not meant to go this way.”

“It is all right,” she said, but her voice was tight. She glanced down the lane, and he wondered if she were reliving the events the same as he was. “I try not to think about it.”

“As do I,” he said quickly, very much wanting her to know of his regret. “Such avoidance is easier when I am not in Brookborrow.”

“I am always in Brookborrow.” She shook her head, as though dislodging thoughts about the situation.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to her home. He wondered if they would ever recover from the embarrassment.
Was it truly so bad?
But then he pictured what she must have seen and felt his face turn beet red in response—a teenage boy with his hands lashed above his head and tied to the beam of that forsaken shed. It would have been bad enough if he’d been clothed, but he’d had only his drawers on, and she was so young.

What would have happened if she had not been willing to rescue him? Had she run off at first glance or told any other person the whole village would have known of his humiliation—which was certainly his cousins’ expectation.

But Bianca had been remarkably steady for a girl of thirteen. She had found him a box to stand on so he could manage to create enough slack in the rope to untie himself. She had found a musty blanket in the corner for him. Even then she’d played lookout as they made their way back to his family estate where he hid in the barn while she alerted Ambrose—a footman back then.

By the time Mathew’s cousins returned from their “ride,” he was dressed and sitting in the drawing room as though nothing had happened.

If Bianca had ever wondered why he had been in such a state, he did not know. She had never asked and he’d been too embarrassed to explain; they had never talked about it since.

“I have relived that day a thousand times,” he began. “And I have—”

“Do not think of it,” she said, glancing his way. He had only just turned into the lane leading to her house. Their time together was nearly spent. “That is the only solution I’ve found.”

“I shall try not to.”

He brought the carriage to a stop a few moments later and stepped down so that he might help her from her seat. His hands lingered on her waist, and he smiled down at her once her feet were on the ground. She held him in a look, an expression, a smile.

“Thank you for a wonderful afternoon,” she said in a soft voice that raised goose bumps on his skin.

“Thank you for the wonderful company.” He did not release her and she did not pull away. “I wish I were not leaving town for these next few days,” he said. “Will you be all right?”

She nodded, then she raised her hand and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers brushing at the side of his face. “Until Friday, then,” she said.

“Until Friday.”

SEVEN

Mathew eagerly entered the Macleans’ ballroom Friday night and scanned the room until his eyes found Bianca. She wore a lovely gold and green gown—just as she said she would—and was talking with some other young women. In her hand was the posy he had sent that morning, violets, again, but with a gold ribbon to match her dress.

He’d had the forethought to request the first dance in the attached note this time, in case she showed it to her mother again, and was surprised by his eagerness to take her to the floor. She looked his direction, saw him, and then smiled in a way that tempted him to believe they were not playing a game at all.

“Hensley.”

Mathew looked to his right, and then smiled politely at his rival. “Good evening, Lord Strapshire.”

“Evening,” Strapshire said, though in a dry tone. He stared across the room, his eyes locked on Bianca in a possessive way that caused Mathew to tense. “I hope that it
will
be a good evening and that you will not push me out as you did at the last ball.”

“Push you out?” Mathew said, raising his eyebrows.

“I mean to make an offer for Miss Davidson,” he said with confidence, raising his chin with a sense of authority and entitlement. “And I would ask you, as a gentleman, not to complicate my ambition.”

Mathew turned to face the man more fully. “Am I to understand that you are asking me to step aside in my attentions to Miss Davidson?”

Lord Strapshire nodded sharply.

“And if I refuse?”

Lord Strapshire’s nostrils flared. “Then you are no gentleman.”

Mathew smiled. “I suppose it is fortunate that you are not the one who gets to decide such things.” He began to walk away, but Lord Strapshire took hold of his arm.

“I intend to marry her, Hensley,” he said between clenched teeth.

Mathew pulled his arm from the other man’s grasp, giving great consideration to brushing off the sleeve of his coat as he fixed Lord Strapshire with a cold glare. “I mean no disrespect, Lord Strapshire, but in this country a woman has a say in the man she marries, and if you are not her choice, then you need not factor me into your equation at all. Miss Davidson is fully capable of making her own decision.”

Lord Strapshire waved his hand as though Mathew was speaking nonsense. “All was well between us before you pushed in,” he said, sounding very much like Mathew’s seven-year-old nephew when he did not get his way. His fists were clenched at his side and his chiseled jaw set tightly.

“Was it?” Mathew asked, allowing doubt to fill his tone. “Then one wonders how it is that I found any room to insert myself at all.” He turned and walked away, unhindered, though he could feel Strapshire’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his coat. When Mathew found Bianca’s eyes again, he knew that she’d seen the exchange and was troubled by it. He repaired his expression, hoping it would ease her worries.

“Good evening, Mrs. Davidson, Miss Davidson, Miss Granger, and Miss Marta,” he said, addressing the women standing with Bianca when he reached them. “You all look very lovely tonight.”

Miss Marta—barely fifteen—blushed at his compliment. The other women inclined their heads in acknowledgment of his greeting and attention. He held Bianca’s eyes a moment longer than necessary, but then engaged all the women in conversation so as not to repeat his meeting with Lord Strapshire in his head too much. He could not forget the exchange completely, however, and found his temper growing. The man gave no consideration to Bianca’s feelings in the least. He hadn’t seemed to even consider the possibility that she might not see his attention as the greatest victory of her life.

“Mr. Hensley?”

Mathew turned to Mrs. Davidson, who had apparently directed a question toward him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I asked when your mother was returning to Brookborrow?”

“It will be another week at least. She and my father enjoy London this time of year.”

“I wish I could go to London,” Miss Marta said, sighing dramatically.

“I don’t expect you take my word for it,” Mathew said, “but I much prefer Brookborrow. There are ever so many rules to follow and expectations to fill amid London society. My mother was raised there and has a great many friends to see, but for my temperament, Brookborrow is everything wonderful and comfortable.”

“You only say that because you have been able to compare the two.” Miss Marta affected a pretty pout. “While I’ll never get the chance to determine even those parts I shall hate. The society must be so very fashionable there.”

“Just because we don’t have a London Season does not mean we do not enjoy society or enjoy fashion in our right,” Bianca said.

Miss Marta sighed again with the martyrdom of youth, and Bianca and Mathew shared a smile. The orchestra, which had been filling the background with a lovely melody, signaled that the dancing portion of the night was about to begin.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Davidson?” Mathew asked. He was eager to relay the exchange he’d had with Strapshire, but even more eager to have Bianca’s attention all to himself.

Bianca smiled and stepped forward, but before she could take his arm, Lord Strapshire suddenly appeared between them, took Bianca’s hand, and pulled her toward the floor.

Mathew was too stunned to react immediately, and by the time he had taken a step after them, Bianca was part of a four set, looking at him with wide eyes. Mathew considered trying to force his claim for the first dance, but Lord Strapshire’s rude manner had already been noticed and allowing that rudeness to linger might be the better solution than showing himself poorly too. He nodded to Bianca and stepped back beside her mother.

Mrs. Davidson said nothing, but the way she fluttered her fan told him she was also anxious about what had happened.

Mathew watched every step of the dance, his anger and jealousy growing despite his attempts to talk himself down. Lord Strapshire pranced and performed as though he were on stage, a triumphant smile on his face as he executed the steps of the dance perfectly. What Mathew wouldn’t give to plant a fist in that man’s nose!

As soon as the dance ended, Mathew started toward Bianca, meeting her and Strapshire halfway across the floor.

“Might I have this dance?” Mathew pointedly ignored Strapshire’s narrowed look.

“Certainly, Mr. Hensley,” she said, quickly extracting herself from Strapshire and taking Mathew’s arm.

Mathew didn’t even bother meeting Strapshire’s eye as he escorted Bianca back to the middle of the floor.

As soon as he could safely state his mind, Mathew began his grumbling, “That indolent, pompous—”

“Arrogant windbag!” Bianca cut in.

They shared an equally irritated look. “And yet he gets away with it,” Bianca added. “What does anyone see in him that is worthy of any appreciation at all?”

They took their places on the floor but were too far away from each other to converse easily. Once the dance began, they shared brief conversation when they could, and Mathew told her of Strapshire’s warning that he not insert himself in the baron’s plan to propose.

Bianca’s neck turned red with irritation. “Why does he not give up?” she said during a step where she hopped a circle around Mathew. Her cheeks were in high color, her jaw tight and her eyes flashing. Quite frankly, she was beautiful—even amid her anger—and she moved with such easy grace and confidence that there was no doubt in his mind why Lord Strapshire had not given up.

Mathew’s level of appreciation loosened his tongue. “Because you are spectacular.”

Bianca came around to the front of him, her eyebrows lifted. A slow smile lit her beautiful lips as she stepped back a few paces, and then forward again as the dance demanded.

“Spectacular?”

He said nothing, only held her eyes and watched a flush creep up her cheeks. She did not stop smiling, however, and he felt a not wholly unexpected desire to be more than an actor in this game. She
was
spectacular, and every moment in her presence convinced him of it more than ever.