The Earl's Intimate Error (4 page)

Miss Canton acted surprised to suddenly notice the other female. “Oh, Miss Holycroft, are you here? I hadn’t seen you under that gown.”

Woodleigh threw himself into the breach. “Very well then, ladies. Now that we’ve all acknowledged one another, perhaps we should adjourn to another room? We could attend cards, with my mother and her friends.”

“Miss Canton had promised me the next dance,” Archer announced. “In the meanwhile, I was just going to get her refreshment.”

“Ah, that’s a capital idea,” Woodleigh said. “Refreshment. Miss Holycroft, would you like something? More lemonade, perhaps?”

“Well, I had planned to dance more, and—”

“Excellent. You need lemonade. Archer, thank you, my friend. How kind of you to offer. I’ll keep the ladies company while you go. Away. To fetch some.”

Archer looked confused and muttered under his breath as he wandered off in search of lemonade. Or to leap over a cliff. Woodleigh really didn’t care which.

“So…a lovely ball Mrs. Fitzmonger has put on, isn’t it?” Miss Canton said when it appeared no one else had anything to say.

“It’s passable,” Miss Holycroft said. “I suppose in Bamford you hardly have much to compare.”

“Beldington,” Miss Canton corrected, enunciating carefully. “But I understand; that’s a long and difficult word to remember.”

Miss Holycroft shrugged. “Fortunately I have no reason to remember it at all.”

“How lucky that you are so pretty, Miss Holycroft.”

“Why thank you, Miss Canton. I suppose in Bubbleton you don’t have much to compare to that, either.”

“Oh, we have plenty to compare,” Miss Canton said, her smile even brighter than before. “My father’s grooms shovel it every day.”

How fortunate that Miss Holycroft had never set foot in a stable and had no idea what Miss Canton could mean. Woodleigh thought it best to distract them.

“Perhaps we should sit down somewhere?” he offered.

“But I want to dance,” Miss Holycroft whined.

He found himself shuddering again but was saved by an uninformed puppy who apparently didn’t realize Miss Holycroft was about to be engaged. He moved into their circle and greeted her nervously.

“H-hello, Miss H-Holycroft. It’s l-lovely to see you.”

“Ah, Mr. Fish-Finglet. How pleasant.”

Woodleigh wondered how something called Fish-Finglet could in any way be pleasant, but he forced himself to maintain composure and bow politely as the young man was presented to him. He did keep a close eye on any hint that the stammering Fish-Finglet might be about to launch himself at Miss Canton, though it appeared no remedial action on Woodleigh’s part would be required. Apparently the other young lady was Fish-Finglet’s target tonight. An abrupt invitation for her to join him to dance came tumbling from the man’s trembling lips.

To everyone’s surprise, Miss Holycroft smilingly agreed. She gave Woodleigh a look that said clearly he ought to be jealous, and she trotted off, clutching Fish-Finglet’s scrawny arm. Woodleigh wasn’t sure what he felt about that, but it sure as hell wasn’t jealousy.

“Tell me again, sir, when is the wedding?” Miss Canton asked when they were alone.

Another shudder. “June. The end of June. Or perhaps July.”

“I see. Have you started to drink yet? I expect you’ll take to it quite soon.”

“Miss Holycroft is the daughter of one of the wealthiest gentlemen in London and our families have sought this connection for years,” he said firmly. “Our union is one of good sense and excellent breeding.”

“I suppose if you say so,” his companion said with a dubious sigh. “But I’ve not seen one bit of good breeding in that filly, and you know what they say about that.”

“You tend to your business, Miss Canton, and I’ll tend to yours. Er, mine.”

She was laughing at him. Hellfire, he should not feel as if squirrels were running amuck in his insides simply at the sound of the woman’s laughter! But along with her laughter there was her hair, and her lips, and those generous, round bosoms…Indeed, the squirrels were having quite the field day inside.

He would not let her see any of it, however. He would remain cool, detached, and uninterested. If only he could fool himself.

“I certainly wish you the best with your fiancée, sir,” she went on, still chuckling under her breath. “I can’t think of a more perfect mate for you.”

“And what of you, Miss Canton? Are you any closer to your matrimonial goals? You seem to be having quite a high time since you’ve arrived here.”

“Oddly enough, I have been enjoying myself, thank you. London has proven to exceed my expectations and your mother is truly lovely.”

He tried to sort through her words to find the insult he was sure must have been there, but he could find none. Judging by her smile and her bright, glistening eyes, he could only deduce she was earnest. His mother had been playing the most attentive hostess, and the ton had welcomed Miss Canton with wide-open arms. Except for his intended bride, of course, but he hoped Miss Canton had not taken that personally. Alexandra Holycroft treated everyone badly. Rival females especially.

Still, she’d not entirely answered his question.

“But what of your prospects? You seem to have plenty of beaux, but will any come up to scratch?”

She evaded his gaze, yet she answered quite smugly. “Your friend Lord Archer is especially dutiful. He has indicated he feels himself in much the same position as you.”

“What, eager to find you a husband who is not me?”

“No, increasing in years and expected to find a wife while he is yet young enough to do so. Gentlemen of title carry a certain burden for that, as I understand. To keep the line going, apparently.”

“Yes, we are rather drilled on that in our formative years.”

“Just as you are settling down, he suspects it is time for him to do the same.”

“So you assume he will settle on you.”

“I assume nothing, sir. I can, however, infer from his actions.”

“His actions? What the devil has he done to you?”

“He’s given indication of his interest, of course. Oh, look. Your mother is waving toward us. And who does she have with her?”

Woodleigh squinted to see clearly across the large room, though he suspected the girl was simply altering the topic to distract him. What the devil
had
Archer done to her? And how the hell had he managed to do it while Woodleigh was keeping close watch over the girl? So help him, when that plundering bastard returned with their lemonade, Woodleigh ought to…But his gaze fell on his mother. Yes, she had emerged from the card room, and there was someone with her, but who…
oh hell
.

“I don’t recognize that young man,” Miss Canton was saying.

“No. You wouldn’t.”

“You know him?”

“I do.”

“Well, it looks like your mother wants us to join them. Will you introduce me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“No? But who is he?”

“One of my brothers.”

And exactly the type of person Miss Canton did
not
need to meet. His brothers were not nearly as upstanding and temperate as he. Damn, but Miss Canton would gobble them up! If Woodleigh was to get the chit married off before she dragged them all into further scandal, the last thing he needed was his lusty younger brother sniffing after her. And she seemed to be sniffing back!

Pru tried desperately to stifle her yawn. She’d still not gotten used to these Town hours. Balls, it seemed, ran interminably late. Not that she hadn’t been having a lovely time, but it seemed the evening had dragged on and on. How many more young men must she smile at and listen to as they pored over her features, drooled on her hand, and played fool just for a morsel of her attention? Did they not realize so much effort was hardly needed? She was a captive audience, of course.

Papa’s last letter indicated he’d not been entirely honest with her. Their stables—their lifeblood—were failing. If she did not marry, there’d be nothing left for them. He only told her these things, apparently, since she’d not been entirely honest with him and had indicated in her first week’s worth of letters that she loved London and was finding the gentlemen charming and sweet.

It had been her intention to let him believe she was doing her part, then simply wait out the Season. He’d see no damage had been done to her reputation—or any other part of her—and she’d go back home, releasing Woodleigh of his duty so they could all get on with their lives. End of distasteful story.

Papa’s letter, however, had changed all that. He’d admitted how desperate he was for this gambit to work, to see her securely wed to a gentleman of means, to believe she was settled and happy. It broke her heart to think she might disappoint him.

It broke her heart more, however, to think she’d have to end up married to one of these trousered ninnies. Were there any that she could tolerate seeing at breakfast on a semi-regular basis? Not so far.

Mr. Delmer was ancient, Mr. Clingly was cross-eyed, and on more than one occasion she’d found Sir Dick picking his nose. Of course they weren’t all that bad. Woodleigh’s brother was dashing and clever—he took after his brother, it seemed—and Lord Archer was attractive and had something of a brain. He seemed to know how to handle himself, too. Of course, he seemed to know how to handle a lady as well, which made her think whomever he married would likely not get a lot of sleep. And try as she might, she just couldn’t imagine spending her nights with Lord Archer.

After all, he was no Woodleigh.

Drat, but she’d have to stop thinking like that! Woodleigh had been kind and attentive to her these two weeks simply because it was his duty. Why did her foolish insides keep dancing around as if it were something more? She’d met Miss Holycroft, seen for herself what Woodleigh wanted for a wife. She could
never
be that, not even for him.

Whatever had happened to her? What worm had crawled into her brain to leave her so fixated on Woodleigh? She simply had to find a way to get out of there. The sooner she convinced herself of his total unsuitability, complete lack of finer qualities and couth, the better she’d be. She’d been dancing with every gentleman who asked her, trying desperately to make distracting conversation and find something redeeming in each of them, but so far very few even came close. Her mind would not leave Woodleigh.

It didn’t help that he was always hovering near. He was making sure she kept up her end of the bargain and was hunting a husband, no doubt. As if Papa could ever truly make trouble for him, not with the real state of things. If only she’d known two weeks ago, she’d never have given in to this scheme!

Then again, if she didn’t go through with things now, their horses would have to be sold, and Papa would be out on the street. Not a good place for a man with withered legs. Or for her either, for that matter. She took a deep breath and smiled at her partner.

He smiled back. Unfortunately his teeth fell out when he did so. And tumbled into the bodice of her gown.

She slapped his hand back when he reached in with two fingers to retrieve them.

“Really, Mr. Morely. That’s the second time tonight. You ought to keep better track of those things.”

She pulled them out and handed them to him. Practice had made her rather deft at the motion. Dear God, how had her life come to this?

“I believe this next dance is mine,” a deep masculine voice said from behind.

She turned, ready to pledge undying devotion to whomever should rescue her from Morely and his slippery teeth. It was Lord Archer, bowing elegantly and smiling his most winning smile. His teeth—thankfully—stayed where they were supposed to be.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Archer,” she said. “Good evening, Mr. Morely. Thank you for such, er, noteworthy conversation.”

Morely was still reapplying his teeth when Archer swept her away to take their place in line for the next dance. It was a rousing country dance, and Pru was happy to lose herself in it. The active steps helped reawaken her sleepy brain, and she was glad for a partner who didn’t bumble or stumble along. It made it so much easier for her to remember the steps for herself. Indeed, Lord Archer seemed the likeliest gentleman so far. She supposed she ought to give him a fair chance. If he found her interesting, she’d try to be equally interested in return.

When the dance ended, he glanced around the room, then pulled her off to one side. Woodleigh was nowhere to be seen, and Pru was only partially surprised when Archer leaned in close and whispered into her ear.

“Have you need of more lemonade?” he asked.

“Thank you, no. It took forever for you to supply the last glass.”

He laughed at her teasing. “Only because I could not find you. I should have known Woodleigh’s brother would appear and take you off for himself.”

“He asked for a dance and I would have been rude to refuse.”

“It seemed Woodleigh would have liked you to refuse.”

She’d noticed that, too. Clearly he’d not wanted her wasting time with his brother when she should have been luring some more eligible gentlemen. But his brother had been friendly and an excellent dancer, so she’d not regretted her choice. Besides, what could it hurt to make another friend here in Town? Once she was stuck here as some old goat’s wife, she would welcome a friend or two.