Читать книгу Defying The Earl - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 13

Chapter Six

Well, that was not well done of him. The disparaging glares cast in his direction when he contradicted Rigby’s announcement of a fondness for poetry were more unsettling than the notion of destitution. Well, almost. Surely poverty would offer him the opportunity for equal censure if he did not have a care. Nearsightedness as it pertained to conversation would do little to ingratiate his company if he abandoned finesse. His focus may be solely on destroying Leonard’s affection toward Fiona, but it would not be achieved in a heavy-handed manner, the likely approach employed by Leonard’s father.

Curse Jasper and his lack-witted idea. A more sensible policy would provide his brother stop gambling, wasting funds, and idling away time, as Valerian had warned him to do years ago. Instead Valerian was forced into a role of falsity, trussed up like a holiday goose in an uncomfortable sample ensemble. He clenched his teeth and revised his approach. Although the dinner bell had rung, several couples still milled in the hallway while others conversed near the windows. Time held firm for an alternate plan.

“Lady Collingsworth, may I beg a word?” He executed a polite bow and called forth his most charming smile for the evening’s hostess.

“Lord Dashwood, such a delight.” The older woman, fanning her face madly, offered him complete attention with a grin, the effusive scent of orchids floating around her person. “I’m so pleased you chose to attend. You’re looking well. I’d venture to say this return to London is quite timely as I rarely entertain once the season is in full swing.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Not for five thousand pounds. He exhaled deeply, gathering his makeshift plan close to heart and producing another smile.

“Have you tried the curried shrimp? My cook prepared an exquisite menu and the appetizers are merely a taste.” She inclined her head to compensate for the loud conversation as the crowd moved toward the dining room. Her expression shifted from pride to question.

He returned her enthusiasm. “Everything has been lovely. Beyond my expectations, but may I inquire of the seating this evening? Would it pose an imposition for a slight realignment in regard to the meal’s dining arrangement?”

“Aah, romance.” An expression of slight misgiving, then realization dawned. “You have your eye on a particular lady, you scoundrel? And to think I believed your brother the rabblerouser in your family.” Her cheeks took on a crimson glow as if she spoke from experience rather than assumption. “Consider it done. Never would I stand in the way of blossoming affection, most especially when you’ve been absent from the social scene. It’s a genuine pleasure to have you at the table. Feel free to rearrange the cards to ensure you converse with the lady who has captured your interest. Good luck with your chase.” She fluttered her satin-gloved hand in the direction of the dinner table as if to encourage him to interfere with her meticulous planning.

“You flatter me, Lady Collingsworth, when it is I who should thank you for your gracious invitation on such short notice. I appreciate your agreeability.” He took a few steps to the right, anxious to reach the place cards before guests advanced to their seats.

“Nonsense, the pleasure is mine. Now you should be about your plan before my guests descend on the table and you’ll have no choice but to watch some other lucky gentleman woo the woman who’s turned your head.” She withdrew as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee dinner service.”

Three strides took him nearer the table but his steps slowed as he noticed Lady Montgomery intent on the same direction, her head bowed in the similar manner as when she’d found her way into a roadway ditch. He watched, bemused, as candlelight danced on the silky strands of her hair, hues of brandy and mahogany swept in a lovely style and pinned behind her neck with an ornate clip. Her eyes darted right and left as if ensuring no one noticed her purposeful presence, but how could one ignore her? There was nothing singularly unique about the gown, nor the coiffure or jewelry, yet her grace was natural, her beauty pure; as if she alone was the sole lady in the room.

She shot a second glance over her shoulder before her eyes bowed to the table. He watched with stunning anticipation as she palmed two seating cards and replaced them further down the table with the smooth efficiency of a practiced thief. If he wasn’t so intrigued by her actions, he might have admired her spunk and fortitude. She wore a triumphant smile. Whatsoever was the lady up to? There was only one way to find out.

“Lady Montgomery.” He adjusted his cuffs in feigned preoccupation, although he hadn’t missed the startle of her shoulders when he’d eased behind her. A few feathery wisps of hair had escaped her coif and the desire to nuzzle her neck, to feel the silky softness of her skin entered his mind with unexpected clarity. Reclaiming his focus with a strong blink, he thrust the thought aside and pursued his answer. “Whatsoever are you doing redesigning Lady Collingsworth’s table? Was the guest to your right an unbearable bore or did you merely wish to sit beside me?”

She drew a quick breath at his question and then stared at the table as if she didn’t realize what she’d perpetrated.

“The choice between boredom and your company would be an exercise in redundancy, Lord Dashwood.”

Her flippant tone contradicted the tremble of her chin. She’d been caught and entirely unsettled by the matter, yet she’d managed a sharp set down despite the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Bravo.

Valerian glanced at the place cards directly in front of him and a flame of annoyance licked at his brain. Lady Montgomery had rearranged Lord Rigby’s seat so the gentleman belonged beside Lady Fiona. If she’d left well enough alone, fate would have done his job. Lady Montgomery’s meddling would become a nuisance if she persisted.

“I doubt Lady Collingsworth would countenance your interference of her place settings. Women go to great lengths to manage their tables. There must be a very important reason for you to shuffle the deck.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps that rap on the head addled your wits more than mine.”

She eyed him with cautious attention and sarcasm crept into her tone, yet although her words were biting, her face looked as anxious and bewildered by her comments as he should be. And while her rebuke was meant to wound, her eyes said something else entirely. Here stood a woman who likely had not one contrary bone in her body, her sable brown gaze as clear as her conscience. So why would she be anxiously manipulating the place settings?

He dropped his eyes to the damask tablecloth, the noisy shuttle of silverware indicating guests claimed their places. Time had run out. His name card sat to the left of hers. That had been the card she’d replaced, hadn’t it? He flicked his eyes to her guileless face. Was it an accident or an intentional maneuver on her part? She couldn’t have vied to place him by her side, could she? A tic of curiosity overpowered better sense and sent his pulse into a wild thrum. Foolish, very foolish.

Lady Montgomery’s face remained expressionless, her lips as silent as an empty vault. To make matters worse, opportunity was no longer his ally as people took their seats, Leonard chatting profusely as he escorted Lady Fiona to her place.

They were well into the soup course and Valerian remained confused with Wilhelmina’s intent. She spoke little, exemplified the finest manners, and cared not a whit he sat by her side which confirmed his earlier suspicion she held another aim to her purpose. Between bites she conversed politely with the lady to her right, but that conversation too, the fashion trend of feathered bonnets, would not instigate a need to reorganize the seating. What could she be up to? If she held no purpose in sitting beside the guest to her right, and paid him no attention at her left, little sense was to be made of the situation.

Meanwhile, Leonard and Fiona exchanged engaging glances at every opportunity, their lively banter littered with double entendre and flirtation. The evening was on a quick downslide to disaster.

Valerian cleared his throat and feigned interest in the tedious conversation holding him captive. Lord Fielding seemed determined to learn every nuance of Valerian’s life since he’d last visited London.

“Quite a substantial estate you have in Devonshire. Acres of rolling countryside, herds of sheep, and a majestic parkland home. It’s no surprise you’d prefer rural living to the congestion and pollution we endure here in London. I had the pleasure of your father’s invitation years ago.”

“You’ve quite a memory.” Valerian bit back a grimace at the pastoral scene Fielding’s words painted. At one time the description fitted Kirby Park aptly, but time and circumstance had altered the conditions of his inheritance with great impact. A wish to restore the estate’s grandeur remained his highest priority and life’s purpose. It took two seasons to shed the morose temperament brought on by Caroline’s jilt. Now he was ready to proceed. If only Jasper had not depleted their coffers so dramatically. “I don’t recall your visit. Was I in house?”

“I believe you were away at university. It might have been your third year. Back then your father cajoled a group of us to join him for a series of weekly card game. If my memory serves correctly, I took a fleecing the first time I participated.” Fielding released a good-natured laugh before emptying his wine glass. “But the following week I did better. They were good times with spirited friends.”

“Aah, well then that would explain it.” Had he the monies of which Fielding spoke, Valerian could repair the lost shingles on the roof or replace the cracked window in the front hall. He’d only managed to keep his head above water by closing off most of the house, selling the furniture for less than its worth, and maintaining a menu of the scarcest variety. Perhaps that was the reason the steaming bowl of lobster bisque before him tasted heavenly. It couldn’t be the company. Lady Montgomery had hardly spoken a word, too busy devouring Leonard and Fiona’s flirtatious banter as if it provided sustenance. Could she be yearning for attention? Desperate for a courtship as romantic as the one unfolding to his left? Pity, she would soon be disappointed as he vanquished their happily ever after and collected his five thousand pounds.

Failure. The word repeated like a litany in Wilhelmina’s brain, yet she couldn’t shake the insult as opportunity offered her every advantage and still she prevaricated. Fiona and Leonard were seated beside each other. Aunt Kate had taken her place at the opposite end of the table allowing Wilhelmina the ability to speak unhindered, and she’d mastered her rearrangement of the place cards with recognizable success. What little interference Lord Dashwood perpetrated did not bear on the result, yet she sat frozen in her seat, unable to articulate any useful conversation, her stomach a jumble of mixed emotion and self-recrimination. She reached for her wine goblet in search of liquid fortification and the action drew his perspicacious attention. A quick flick of her eyes and she was under his midnight-blue scrutiny, entirely unsettled by an unnerving attraction beyond her control.

“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?”