The Untamed Earl (5 page)

Upton gave Owen a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, old chap. I'd no idea your father would pick her of all the ladies in Society. The good news is that she's quite beautiful.”

Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't even remember what she looks like.”

“She is beautiful,” Cavendish agreed. “Or would be, if she didn't have such a sour expression all the time.”

“Perfect.” Owen called for the footman. He needed that glass of brandy immediately.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Alexandra stood outside her sister's bedchamber and steeled her resolve. She took a deep breath. Then another one. Speaking with Lavinia was never pleasant, but Alexandra had to get answers to her questions before she decided upon the appropriate tactic. Namely, did Lavinia have any sort of regard for Lord Owen Monroe? If she did, Alexandra couldn't possibly interfere with their courtship, as disappointed as she might be. But if she didn't—and Alexandra highly suspected she didn't—then she would be free to use whatever means at her disposal to thwart their parents' plan.

Please, please don't have a regard for him.

Alexandra clutched her sweaty palms together to still their trembling and forced herself to knock.

“Come in,” came her sister's short, cranky voice.

Alexandra slowly turned the handle and pushed open the door to Lavinia's opulent bedchamber. It was decorated in a variety of shades of pink silks and satins with large white bows, fluffy down pillows, pink striped wallpaper, and paintings of pink flowers on the walls. Lavinia sat at her silver-mirrored dressing table in front of the looking glass, preening like a peacock.

For the thousandth time, Alexandra thought how beautiful her sister was. Lavinia's complexion was white as milk. Her hair was dark brown with a slight curl. Her nose was patrician, her eyes crystal blue. She looked like a perfect doll. A tall, willowy, thin, gorgeous doll. The exact opposite of Alexandra's middling height and curviness, with plump cheeks and brown hair and eyes. Alexandra sighed. Life was simply not fair.

Lavinia wasn't all bad, of course. She'd been a sweet little girl. Or so a vague memory told Alexandra. But then she'd taken ill, and all that had changed. It wasn't her sister's fault, exactly, that she could be so unpleasant to be around. She adored her horses in the country and she was quite well read. Mostly books about knights and damsels, but still, someone who loved to read as much as Lavinia did must have
some
redeeming qualities as far as Alexandra was concerned.

Lavinia's beleaguered maid, Martha, was painstakingly rubbing cold cream onto her mistress's small hands. Alexandra rarely administered cream to her hands, and she certainly never asked her maid to do it. She'd never subject poor Hannah to such ministrations. Lavinia, however, rarely lifted as much as a finger for her own care unless she was forced to. And that on a very rare occasion indeed.

Alexandra made her way into the room with a smile on her face. She'd learned long ago that it was always best to approach Lavinia casually until one determined what sort of mood she was in. Alexandra hoped for the best today. At least Lavinia hadn't raised her voice or thrown anything yet. That was a success.

“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked in as cheery a voice as she could muster.

Lavinia closed her eyes and relaxed into her seat, wiggling her shoulders back and forth. “What does it look like I'm doing, you dolt? Having my hands creamed, obviously.”

The smile temporarily dropped from Alexandra's face. Despite her calm façade, it seemed her sister was already in a fine temper. Too bad. Alexandra studied her stonelike face in the looking glass. Poor Lavinia. She'd always been given precisely what she wanted precisely when she wanted it, but still she wasn't happy. Alexandra doubted anything could make her sister happy. Though she desperately hoped it wasn't Lord Owen Monroe.

“Oh, yes. I see,” Alexandra replied, redoubling her efforts to be cheerful and replacing the smile on her face.

Lavinia cracked open one ice-blue eye and stared at her. “What do you want? You never come into my bedchamber.”

Not if I can help it.
“I came to tell you something,” Alexandra replied in a conspiratorial voice, hoping to intrigue her sister. Lavinia liked nothing so much as gossip.

Lavinia's second eye opened. She narrowed both of them on Alexandra through the looking glass. Aha. There was unmistakable interest there.

“Tell me what?” Lavinia's voice curled through the air like smoke.

Alexandra sauntered over and took a seat on a tufted cushion near the wardrobe not far from her sister. “Just something I overheard … about Lord Owen Monroe.”

Lavinia's eyes snapped shut again. “Ugh. I couldn't care any less if I tried. Lord Owen is a complete scoundrel. I can't imagine what Mother was thinking, inviting him to the ball tomorrow night.”

So Mother had already told her he'd be coming to the ball. “But he is extremely handsome, don't you think?” Alexandra ventured, trying not to get too excited over her sister's declaration that she couldn't care any less about Lord Owen. That was a good start, but Alexandra had to be certain.

Lavinia sighed. “I suppose he's passably good-looking if you like the arrogant, overly confident sort—which I decidedly do not.” Lavinia flipped over her hands to allow poor Martha better access to her palms.

Alexandra had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping out a reply. Passably good-looking? Was her sister blind?

“He does seem confident,” Alexandra replied calmly instead.

Lavinia sniffed. “Yes, well, he's been far too indulged by his parents for far too long.”

Alexandra nearly choked. She pressed her hand to her throat. Oh, the irony. But pointing out such a thing to her sister would not only be useless but would also most likely end in a tirade from Lavinia and a severe scolding from their mother for upsetting the delicate flower that was her sister. Instead, Alexandra changed tactics.

“Speaking of liking a certain sort, if you don't fancy Lord Owen, whom do you fancy?”

Lavinia opened her eyes and then rolled them. “No one. The entire
ton
is full of ne'er-do-wells and ignoramuses. I cannot possibly imagine whom I'm to marry if the selection is no better than it is at present.”

“You don't truly believe that,” Alexandra replied, then winced. She couldn't afford to anger her sister this early in the conversation.

Alexandra glanced at Martha. Alexandra had to credit the maid with a straight face and the patience of a saint. Martha calmly rubbed cream into every inch of her mistress's hands without so much as blinking an eye. Lavinia preferred a long, leisurely hand massage. Alexandra hoped Father was paying the young woman well. Alexandra made a mental note to slip her some of her own pin money next time she saw her.

“Of course I believe that,” Lavinia replied with a half snort, pursing her lips. “And don't think I don't know what you're about, coming in here and asking questions. You merely want me to choose a husband so that
you
will be free to marry.”

There was no use denying that. “Do you intend to become a spinster, then?” Alexandra asked.

“Certainly not. But I fully intend to wait until I find the perfect gentleman, though I daresay that task will be easier said than done. I refuse to settle for the first chap or even the fiftieth who comes along, hoping to win my hand. I deserve the best of the lot, do I not?”

Alexandra and Martha exchanged skeptical glances. Alexandra decided to keep her reply to herself. However, her sister had just given her the perfect opening.

“Why don't you tell me what you're looking for, and I shall endeavor to help you look.”

Lavinia pushed her perfect nose into the air and seemed to contemplate the question for a moment. “Hmm. I suppose it cannot hurt. You and I do have the same interest in mind.”

Yes. Getting you married off.

“Very well,” Lavinia said. “First of all, I severely dislike any man who drinks. Especially if he drinks to excess. It's vulgar.”

Alexandra kept her face completely still. Of course her sister disliked drinking. Lavinia hated all fun. “I see,” Alexandra replied simply.

“And he cannot be overbearing. I detest an overbearing sort.”

Takes one to know one.

Lavinia flipped her hands back over, indicating for Martha to proceed with the second coat. “Gambling of any sort is completely out of the question. It's an absolute abomination.”

“Of course.” Alexandra nodded. That was not news to her; she'd had her own unfortunate incident in which her sister had discovered her gambling—or more precisely, encouraging others to gamble—and raised holy hell. Again, Lavinia was the opposite of fun.

“Cursing and a bad temper are also entirely unacceptable,” Lavinia continued.

Ah yes, only one of them could curse and have a bad temper in Lavinia's marriage. Alexandra had to smother her smile at that thought.

“I detest dancing,” Lavinia added thoughtfully. “I cannot abide a gentleman who is forever endeavoring to ask me to dance.”

It's one of my favorite things,
Alexandra thought wistfully. “What, specifically, do you object to when it comes to dancing?” Alexandra couldn't help but ask.

Lavinia flared her nostrils and glared at her. “There are much better things to do with one's time than dance.”

“Such as?”

“Such as anything!” Lavinia's voice rose sharply, and Alexandra quickly decided to abandon that line of questioning.

“Very well, what else do you require in a gentleman?” Alexandra said.

Lavinia pressed her lips together. “I adore poetry. The man who wins my heart must write me not only poetry but ballads as well.”

“Ballads?” Alexandra wrinkled her nose. The maid gave her mistress a questioning sideways glance.

“Yes, love ballads. I adore them,” Lavinia said. “And he must bring me flowers every time he comes to see me. Scads and scads of flowers. Not those sad little offerings from the park, but large, lovely ones he has carted in from his conservatory in the country.”

Alexandra shook her head. Of course, his conservatory. Because any man worthy of Lavinia would be the proud owner of a conservatory filled with large, gorgeous flowers with which to woo her.

“And he must be a fine horseman,” Lavinia continued. “You know how much I adore my dear Bonnie in the country.”

It was true. The only living thing her sister seemed to cherish was her horse. “Is there anything else?”

“All the normal things, of course. He must be handsome, titled, honorable. He cannot live too far away. I shouldn't like to travel a great distance to visit Mother and Father. That would be terribly inconvenient.”

Mustn't inconvenience her.

“And he shouldn't be of such a strong mind that he won't allow me to redecorate our country house as I see fit.”

Never think it.

“He shouldn't be too terribly interested in politics. I shouldn't like to have to discuss such boring subjects at every dinner party.”

The horror.

“What about wit?” Alexandra offered.

Lavinia bared her teeth. “Wit? Why would I want that? Wit is overrated.”

No, it's not.
“Anything else?”

“I prefer a man with an artist's heart who can speak to me about horses and poetry with equal verve. Someone with soft hands who might play me a love ballad on a mandolin.” She sighed and stared dreamily off toward her pink wallpaper.

An artist's heart? What did that mean? And a mandolin? Really? Alexandra and Martha exchanged another skeptical glance. Her sister's perfect groom didn't sound appealing to Alexandra in the least. Though, thankfully, he also sounded completely opposite of Lord Owen Monroe. As she had suspected, her sister and Lord Owen were not suited at all.

“You're quite certain Lord Owen doesn't tempt you?” Alexandra asked.

Lavinia raised a brow and wrinkled her nose. “Not in the least. Why, I'm looking for the perfect romantic gentleman. Can you imagine Lord Owen being a romantic? Or a gentleman?”

A
romantic
gentleman? No, indeed, Alexandra could not imagine it. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Very well, if you're certain.”

“Entirely. I suppose I'll eventually have to go to the Continent to find such a man,” Lavinia finished with a sniff. “I daresay I've yet to meet a suitable candidate in three years of attending those monotonous
ton
parties.”

“I have a much better idea of what you're seeking,” Alexandra said, her cheery tone returning. She stood, smoothed her light green skirts, and headed for the door. “That's exactly whom I shall look for. I'm certain such a man exists.”
Somewhere.
Though Alexandra doubted it. He sounded like a medieval knight straight out of a tale worthy of King Arthur, only without the manliness.

Lavinia contemplated her creamy hands. “I doubt
you'll
have luck when Mother's failed all these years.”

“I'll certainly do my best,” Alexandra replied, smiling optimistically at her sister. Why did Lavinia never respond to a genuine smile? Alexandra began to turn toward the door.

“Wait,” Lavinia said, pulling her hand away from the maid sharply with a loud, “That's enough!” Martha backed away quickly, most likely in fear of being slapped.

“What?” Alexandra stopped and stared at Lavinia.

“You never said what you heard about Lord Owen. About
me.
”

Of course her sister couldn't resist discussing her favorite topic. Herself.

Alexandra cleared her throat. “I heard he's taken with you and intends to court you.”

Lavinia smiled a catlike smile and settled back into her seat. “Oh, of course he does. Too bad for him, he doesn't stand a chance.”