Defying the Earl (8 page)

“Cat have your tongue, Lady Montgomery? You had no trouble reprimanding me earlier.” His voice full of censure, he offered a slow deliberate smile. “Or are you feeling unwell this evening? You’ve been quieter than a church mouse.”

He angled into her and she inclined to meet him, assuaging the jump in her pulse that it was the only way she’d be able to hear his smoky murmur. Still his sudden attention and private questions jarred her hold on the wine glass, the stem tilting to the left as her arm jerked to prevent spillage, her charm bracelet jingling with applause against the china dinner plate. It was no small miracle she saved herself from further blunder. Determined not to appear clumsy once again, Wilhelmina flashed him an impatient look and mustered her best no-nonsense tone. “Not at all, Lord Dashwood. I’m simply enjoying my meal and the fine company of friends. It is the reason for accepting Lady Collingsworth’s invitation, is it not?” She hoped her judicial reply would curtail his curiosity and allow her heart to resume a normal rhythm.

“That does not explain your tampering with the place settings. I must admit, you’ve presented me with a puzzle I cannot solve.”

He delivered a vague look of disapproval although a mischievous glint sparked his eyes. She already thought him handsome, but with the candlelight glow casting a sheen to his just-a-little-too-long hairstyle and the elegant angle of his body leaned ever so slightly toward her person, Wilhelmina had trouble breathing. How would she ever concentrate on the matter at hand with this strong, deliciously smelling man beside her?

It was as though her senses were acutely aware of his every nuance and that singular thought, that she was attracted to Lord Dashwood, when she’d never taken a particular interest in any one gentleman, was enough to dry the quick retort on her tongue.

When Lord Fielding had described Dashwood’s country home as palatial, she’d turned an attentive ear. The earl’s wealth exceeded her imaginings, not that she’d had any designs on her prospects, but all information proved useful. Perhaps someday in the near future a concerned mother would contact her for matchmaking of lofty proportions. It served her well to know all eligible bachelors, most especially one entailed to an earldom.

A little sigh escaped at the realization Livie and she did not mix in elite circles of earls and the equivalent. Lord Dashwood would stay firmly planted in her daydreams, the same which revolved around the touch of his hand as he escorted her from the roadway or the contradictory and devilish tone of his irate questions, as if he wasn’t really angry at all.

If only being extremely wealthy, at least to the extent as she’d learned from the discussion of his country home, would eradicate her extreme lack of dowry. Still that was the stuff of daydreams, and Wilhelmina possessed too much intelligence to be deluded that such arrangements lived anywhere except in fairytales.

When the subject of her deliberations cleared his throat beside her, she noticed in horror he waited for her reply. “Your country estate sounds lovely.” The compliment caused a grim shadow to enter his eyes.

“Clever, your little change of subject, but the matter won’t be so easily dismissed. It was poorly done of you not to consider I may have hoped to sit beside a different guest before you manipulated my seat to your own device. At the very least you owe me the privilege of understanding why. Will you not reveal your reasoning?”

He summoned a pitch of mock outrage that had Wilhelmina biting the inside of her cheek. She disliked being the center of the room, but Dashwood’s attention fitted as snugly as a well sewn glove...and just as warmly. His careful insolent smile somehow heated her skin, quickened her pulse. But what had he said? He had desired to sit beside someone else?

“You flatter yourself if you believe I meticulously maneuvered your place card beside mine.” Her tone betrayed her with a tinge of less than truth. She faltered, but pushed on, willing her usual sarcasm to jetty as strongly as her nervous pulse. “I hardly know you despite our unlikely predicament with the wheel ruts.”

For a fleeting breath, a grin curled his lips, but then his head jerked to the left, drawn by the twittering giggle Lady Fiona bestowed on Lord Rigby during a subdued and somewhat less than respectable tête-à-tête. It would appear the guests to either side of the enamored couple realized no conversation was to be had and adjusted their polite conversation elsewhere, providing the besotted lovebirds the exact privacy for which they wished. At least, as much as could be afforded during a social event where the table served sixty guests. Wilhelmina found a genuine smile. Things could not proceed more perfectly…until Dashwood spoke.

“Playing the woman false, are you, Leonard? If I recall correctly, you recently confided that the very last thing you desired was a shackle attached to your ankle.”

“No, you misunderstood, Dash. When I asked if you were interested in a wife—” Leonard’s voice held a panicked tone of immediate objection.

“No need to be embarrassed by the situation. I’m sure Lady Fiona understands. It is expected for any young gentleman to have a string of maidens on whom to dance attendance.”

“Now, see here, I never said anything of the sort and I’d appreciate—”

“Furthermore, I agree with your views. Marriage is labeled an institution for a reason. It is my perception is transforms otherwise gems of the ton into windsuckers, boring and socially castrated.”

“Gentlemen!” Wilhelmina’s voice rose the slightest octave, but it was the rap of her fork against the side of her china plate that allowed the interruption. “It is very easy to see Fiona is enjoying Leonard’s attention. They make a most handsome couple. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Dashwood?” A few heads turned, but not many, and she could not allow the evening to spiral out of control. How dare he insinuate Leonard’s affections were false?

“Looks can be deceiving, as thoroughly as promises and vows.”

There was a note of finality akin to the sharp edge of Dashwood’s statement that destroyed any further debate of the subject.

Coupled with service of the main course, a deep silence fell over their portion of the table as everyone appeared riveted by the fine plate of wine-steeped venison with curried carrots and parsnip puree.

Except every few minutes, Wilhelmina noticed Fiona eyed Leonard with a sorrowful glance meant to convey disappointment and worse, doubt of the young man’s attentions. Wilhelmina wanted to seize the silver epergne from the center of the table and strike Lord Dashwood across the forehead for all his thoughtless interference. If the man could not perceive how besotted Fiona and Leonard were with each other, it was no wonder he remained a bachelor. And his views of marriage seemed abominable. Despite his landholdings, the earl would prove a poor choice for future matchmaking endeavors.

Wilhelmina regained her focus. If Fiona suddenly entertained the possibility Leonard no longer favored her, chance at success would dissolve along with further recommendations for matchmaking; therefore funding Livie’s treatments would become virtually impossible. Disaster loomed like a lingering storm cloud over an outdoor wedding. Eminent recovery was needed. Anything to repair the damage inflicted by Lord Dashwood’s thoughtless comments.

“I feel terribly warm.” Wilhelmina brought the back of her hand to her forehead and strove for a tone of concern and oncoming weakness. “I believe I’ll visit the retiring room for a moment’s respite. Will you be so kind as to accompany me, Fiona? I would hate to discover I am more overcome than I originally suspected.” With a dramatic sway, Wilhelmina rose from the table, nodding to the gentlemen who offered her the same courtesy, and started toward the door.

“Of course.” Fiona stood as the gentlemen to her right and left followed in kind. She folded her napkin neatly beside her plate and then with nothing more than a fleeting glance in Leonard’s direction, joined Wilhelmina. She placed a comforting hand at Wilhelmina’s shoulder as if to guide her from harm’s path.

Once in the hallway, all pretense of weakness evaporated and Wilhelmina straightened her shoulders and reclaimed her composure, steering Fiona toward the retiring room with renewed determination. “I pray you didn’t give Lord Dashwood’s insensitive remarks a second consideration. The earl harbors an unpredictable and conflicted side to his personality. I would not doubt Lord Rigby’s attentions.”

They’d reached the empty retiring room and Wilhelmina led Fiona inside.

“You are feeling unwell?”

Fiona’s question expressed true concern and Wilhelmina fought against a wave of conscience. Matchmaking was a dirty business. A little subterfuge was necessary in the name of good intentions.

“Never mind me, I’m fine. I wanted to separate from the dining room so we could speak in private. Are you unsettled by the recent dinner conversation? I have no cause to believe you should doubt Lord Rigby’s intention.”

“However can you be sure?” Fiona disentangled herself and walked to the oval looking-glass on the wall above the water basin. “Leonard did nothing to dissuade Dashwood he held any genuine sentiment toward me. He might have objected in a stronger tone. I fear the man of my heart has as little principle as the earl possesses good taste.”

“Oh posh. However could Leonard defend your honor and your deep-felt emotion if the earl interrupted him at every word? We weren’t able to hear what your dear-heart had to say because Dashwood wouldn’t hold his wagging tongue.” Wilhelmina took a fortifying breath and released it through clenched teeth. How dare the earl sabotage her sincere efforts by inserting his misguided opinion of marriage with a few poorly placed comments? The man was proving a nuisance. Upset she pulled him into a mud puddle? Not at all. He deserved worse. “I wouldn’t consider Dashwood’s suggestions a minute longer.”

“I’m not so sure. I desire a man who will battle for my hand and uphold my honor.” Fiona pinched her cheeks to a soft pink before fluffing a few curls near her left ear. “How will I know Leonard is truly marriage material if he will not speak proudly of his affections?” She glanced in Wilhelmina’s direction with questioning eyes before returning to the mirror to continue her attentive ministrations. She spent an indulgent amount of time adjusting her earbobs.

“I daresay this is all a misunderstanding instigated by Dashwood’s careless remarks.” Good heavens, Fiona needed a strong dose of practicality. Wilhelmina reminded herself of the goal. Twice. “You are ethereal and beautiful, and any gentleman would be lucky to receive your favor. I’m sure Leonard is biting his tongue, the dinner meal as bland as ashes in his mouth, because he was unable to express his true feelings. May I suggest a remedy? Have you received an invitation to Lady Bitford’s garden party tomorrow? Do you plan to attend?” She pushed forward, unwilling to allow Fiona to diffuse her plan of attack. “We shall confront the issue away from the distractions of this dinner affair, when I am certain your Leonard will show no lack of verbosity. A garden party is the perfect arena for a besotted gentleman to express his devotion. Will you be in attendance?”

Fiona appeared mollified although Wilhelmina’s pulse jumped waiting for her reply.

“Yes, I accepted the invitation, but I’m not certain what good it will do. I suspect Leonard is toying with my affections. Mother has expressed strong suspicions concerning his sincerity. Last Sunday after mass, she was told by Lady Dowly who spoke to Lady Pennett that Leonard accompanied a woman in a crimson redingote to Gunther’s last Saturday. They enjoyed an ice before walking through the square. Their arms were linked and Mother learned they were seen laughing together in public.”

Wilhelmina suppressed a roll of the eyes. “I see.” Feigning concern for several heartbeats she continued in a sympathetic, yet no-nonsense tone. “Truly, we don’t have all the facts. The lady could very well be Leonard’s cousin visiting London for the first time.”

“I suppose the possibility exists.” Fiona turned from the mirror, a bright smile on her face. “Well, isn’t this delightful, Wilhelmina. You are proving to be the very best confidante. I would never have anticipated I’d come away from this evening with a new and dear friend. I like your sensible outlook.”

“Thank you. I am happy to help in any manner suitable to the occasion, and please call me Whimsy. It’s the least I can do.”

Chapter Seven

It was nearly two in the morning when Valerian returned to Barnaby Street. He’d lingered in Collingsworth’s study after dinner, gathering the local gossip and keeping Leonard Rigby under his watchful eye. A well-placed apology had smoothed Leonard’s discord, and Valerian expressed it sincerely, the two sharing a brandy and conversation with no poor feelings. He truly despised the need for blatant manipulation, but desperate times called for desperate measures and the debtors expected full payment by the end of month. Five thousand pounds would buy him more time and the slightest assuagement of anxiety.

Pity Leonard’s feelings had to come into play, but wasn’t that what this whole
matchbreaking
endeavor was about? Hadn’t he anticipated there would be heartache and turmoil? The two conditions were unavoidable consequences of risking affection. He’d never make that mistake again.

Still he’d need to practice a more discreet approach come tomorrow when he attended Lady Bitford’s garden party otherwise he’d be despised and worse, unwelcome at the social events needed to perform his duties. He hadn’t received an invitation to the afternoon event, but believed most socials of the season thrived on the unexpected. Confident he could charm Lady Bitford were it necessary, he’d garnered all the details from Leonard and made a mental note the hostess preferred vanilla orchids.

Discarding his waistcoat and gloves on a wingchair near the fireplace, Valerian placed another log on the fire, picked up the poker from the tool box, and settled further into his deliberations. Tonight might have been an exercise in tedium had it not been for Wilhelmina Montgomery, the brightest spark in the room. Something about the female irritated and intrigued him simultaneously. The contradiction was a curious mixture of danger and desire, his body reacting enthusiastically while his brain shook a sharp stick and screamed
no!
How could a woman express such contrariness when he hardly knew her, all guileless innocence and premeditated exploitation? And what was she up to with her rearrangement of the place cards and her utterly charming reprimand? Chuckling with the irony of the situation, he replaced the poker and turned toward the hall.