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Authors: Anabelle Bryant

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BOOK: Defying the Earl
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“Is it? We’ve sold everything we own that holds any value, the house, the land, Father’s books. I know we’ve discussed this before, but maybe we should sell Mother’s charm bracelet.”

Wilhelmina’s attention shot to her sister. “What? No. I could never part with it. I’m sorry.” She searched the room for a distraction. Anywhere to rest her eyes besides her sister’s entreating face. “Mother believed it to be special and wore it always. It’s all we have of her now.” She fought against the lump of emotion in her throat. Why did everything have to be so difficult? “I could never sell it.”

“I shouldn’t have made the suggestion. I’m sorry. It was a poor idea and a temporary one at best. The bracelet holds fond memories for me as well. I remember as a child counting the five charms as each dangled from the delicate chain on Mother’s wrist. I’m just at a loss for a solution to the dire situation we face.” She dropped her gaze to the coverlet and picked at a small bit of thread. Silence consumed the room for several ticks of the long case clock near the door.

“Well, there must be some way I can generate income to assist Aunt Kate and pay for your treatments. Remember the evening Father gifted Mother with the bracelet? It was during their surprise anniversary party. The evening was such a success, everyone declared me the most delightful hostess. It was a joyous gathering.” She managed a slight smile with the reminiscent memory. “Perhaps there is some way I can arrange events to fit society’s needs.”

“Mother and Father’s party was a small country gathering. However would you keep an undertaking as grand as a ton social from Aunt Kate? She may not mix with the most elite dowagers but somehow despite her hearing impairment, she manages to acquire every word of gossip at her weekly tea; every courtship, betrothal, and wedding. She lives for news of the latest liaisons.”

Wilhelmina rose and paced the length of the bed before she spun, the quick juxtaposition causing her muslin skirts to wrap around her ankles. “That gives me an idea. Back home, friends were forever asking my advice. What if I served as a matchmaker of sorts? I could obtain the most pertinent information about suitors and present it to a young lady wishing to marry. It would be a useful service, but also one the lady would want to keep secret, securing my anonymity.” She paused, but impatient ideas forced her words out in a flurry. “The exchange of funds would never need to be revealed to anyone beside the two of us, thus eliminating any real chance Aunt Kate would discover my involvement. Once I collected a tidy sum, I could pay Dr. Morris in advance for your treatments relieving the strain on Aunt Kate’s savings.” Her voice rang with determination and newfound enthusiasm as rigorous as her momentum.

“The idea has worth, although to truly earn money you would need to advise the most affluent members of the ton. How would you manage it? We’ve barely left the house since we’ve arrived in London. Not to mention, whenever you get exceedingly nervous you become snippy and unreasonable. Some might label it argumentative.”

Wilhelmina threw Livie an exaggerated glare and then punctuated the action with a tolerant smile. “Stated with great diplomacy, dear sister. My nerves will need realignment and popularity does present a challenge, but not being well known will work to our benefit. This idea has merit. I distress at keeping anything from Aunt Kate after she’s shown only generosity and kindness, but if it means we’ll ultimately be able to pay the doctor, the end must justify the means.” She would strive to do anything in her power to help Livie and provide security for more treatments no matter how farfetched the idea or quickly formulated, it did hold promise. “Perhaps this plan can work.”

“As long as you don’t bite anyone’s head off. I’m accustomed to your quick wit and know you merely mean to deflect your agitation, but men prefer docile women.” This time it was Livie who wore the smile. “Men want females who are obedient, agreeable, and ornamental.”

“Spoken by someone who’s never been courted formally.”

Livie’s eyes slid to the lap desk resting on a chair beside the bed. Her expression contradicted Wilhelmina’s words and a flash of curiosity lit anew.

“Stuff and nonsense, Livie, what have you been reading while housebound? I can’t fathom where you gather your ideas. Aunt Kate hasn’t a single gothic novel in her home and I know as I’ve searched thoroughly. I can only suspect your friends are writing you with sordid romantic tales. A woman should never disguise her true self to please a gentleman, whether it be intellect, wit, or beauty. What is the value of a relationship built on falsity?”1

“Of course, you are correct, Whimsy. I place my complete faith in you. It’s high time you’ve overcome your tendency to stay at home just because I’m confined to my bed. There is no reason both of us should suffer because my legs are disagreeable. You’re three and twenty and more than lovely. You should be dancing in ballrooms and flirting with handsome gentlemen.” One couldn’t ignore the wistful yearning in Livie’s final sentence.

The realization caused Wilhelmina’s tentative determination to take root. True, she’d grown comfortable in a quiet existence despite they lived in the city. Their countryside childhood provided no real exposure to the ton and the thought of mingling with strangers, making clever conversation and securing relationships, presented a terrifying proposition. Her sister had always proved the light in the room. Wilhelmina enjoyed the comfortable security of shadow. Yet, she had to be strong, for Livie’s sake. “I fear you misunderstand. I have no intention of flirting with any gentlemen, and the only dancing I will do is for the cause.” She took a breath, settling into the idea and wondering if it truly could solve their financial woes.

Her heart weighed heavy with the thought of experiencing society without her sister by her side, but their plan could ultimately bring about that end, launching Lavinia into a glamorous ballroom as a surefooted debutante. She took a long breath and focused on the purpose of their plan before matching eyes with Livie who leaned forward with eagerness awaiting her answer. “I don’t know if I share your unfailing confidence, but you’ll always have my loyalty.”

“Excellent!” Livie reclined against the pillows propped near the headboard. “We are not so worse for the wear. If you polished up a bit, I’m sure you’d fit in with all the jewels boasting extensive wardrobes and silk slippers. You’ll need to purchase a new gown and assume a mysterious hauteur; then you’ll have clients in no time, whether it be anxious mothers or impatient daughters.”

“You make it sound terribly simple and I hope you’re right, because I haven’t an alternate plan.” Wilhelmina glanced down to the skirts of her simple day gown, a pale shade of a former pattern with twice turned cuffs and hems. She mentally cataloged the serviceable gowns in her wardrobe, which took all of two minutes, and then settled at her sister’s elbow. She wrapped their hands together, palm to palm as if in prayer.

Livie moved their hands to her chest, Wilhelmina’s charm bracelet jingling softly with the motion and Livie smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with delight. “You’ll succeed, Whimsy, I feel it in my heart.”

Chapter Three

Two weeks later

Valerian St. David, disgruntled Earl of Dashwood, muttered under his breath for the umpteenth time, questioning his brother’s sanity and cursing the words used to agree to Jasper’s outlandish scheme. Ensconced in Lord Rigby’s study, trapped in a borrowed velvet waistcoat that strained the breadth of his shoulders and pinched the waist, he slid a finger beneath his too tightly tied cravat and wondered how much longer the marquess would keep him waiting. According to Jasper, the man was rabid to disentangle his son from a certain path of destruction, a betrothal to Lady Fiona, Lord Nobles’ eldest daughter.

Having been out of society for a number of years and possessing not a shilling to shine on his sleeve, Dash didn’t care a fig for the complicated liaisons created by the ton. He sought relief from the debtors. He needed funds. Period.

He exhaled a deep breath of frustration and took survey of the dark-paneled room in which he waited with impatience. The study smelled of worn leather and old money. His eyes settled on a large glass case hanging on the adjacent wall where a display of brightly coloured butterflies, their wings tacked firmly to the felt backboard, epitomized his situation. He was trapped. Pinned. Owned.

“Dashwood, there you are.”

“Rigby.” Valerian swung his attention to the stout, ruddy-faced gentleman who rushed into the room and neatly closed the doors behind him. Of course, he was here. It was where the butler had advised him to wait.

During the carriage ride Val had decided to allow Rigby the majority of the talking. It was vital his purpose remain disclosed to no one beside the marquess. Once Rigby explained the circumstances, and the fee was settled, Valerian would agree to the absurd arrangement. He had little choice. If only he knew the means by which Jasper discovered Rigby’s desire to disentangle his son. Perhaps then he would feel more prepared for the sham he stood poised to perpetuate and the indecent
matchbreaking
that would ensue.

But that was not to be. Jasper had arranged the clandestine meeting, neatly explained the barest circumstances, and rode off on One-Eyed Jack without further conversation. Val had not seen him in two days and that did not bode well for London or the Dashwood bank account.

“Let’s get right to it. My wife is at the shops and while she enjoys spending my money, one never knows. It’s wise to take care of this situation with expedience.” Rigby approached with a confident air.

“True.” Val strove to maintain monosyllabic retorts. The less he contributed to the conversation, the better. Besides if the marquess wanted the matter to be done with due haste, minimal small talk served a dual purpose.

“Odd circumstance, but I find myself against a wall and I don’t like the position. My son, Leonard, is smitten. Poor fool. Taken in mind and heart by Lady Fiona and I won’t have it. The chit may be the fairest debutante of the season, but her father is the biggest mutton-head in England. He serves in Parliament two aisles from my seat and boldly uses his power to support reduced taxation. I could never condone my only heir bound to a family whose patriarch displays such alarmingly shallow intelligence.”

“Indeed.” Valerian inclined his head in agreement and cleared his throat to disguise the growl of his objecting belly. He skimmed his eyes over the far wall. Was there a liquor cabinet nearby? A brandy would be welcome.

“The debate is fairly academic. No man in sound mind would sustain reduced taxes benefit the majority, yet since the Battle of Waterloo and the social upheaval opposing higher income tax, a large population has championed its abolition. Lord Nobles has led the battle cry against my efforts and that of my colleagues. His limited scope of foresight will cripple this country.

“Now the girl may be as foolish as her father, I would not know, having never conversed with her, but the consideration signifies little. My son believes the sun rises and sets on the chit’s existence and has ignored my advisement he end the relationship and set his cap at another. Impetuous romantic heart of his. A curse from his mother’s side of the family. Women are plentiful in London. Leonard will be happier with someone else. Are you following, Dashwood?”

“Yes.” It seemed the right thing to say though Valerian’s mind reeled with the ridiculous logic constituting the marquess’ objection. The man would deny his son a future of happiness for his selfish unwillingness to associate with the proposed father-in-law.

Not that true love existed.

Valerian believed it as tangible as a unicorn.

Caroline proved that true years ago.

For less than a breath, his heart ached with the memory.

“Man of few words, are you?” Rigby approached, his eyebrows drawn, his forehead furrowed. “You do perceive the undertaking? I need my son disentangled from Lady Fiona with haste. Any further delay and Leonard may do something rash or worse, Parliament may begin to see reason in Nobles’ blather. I can’t take the chance.” A frown puckered his brow. “Lord Nobles is mad as hops if he believes he can convince the House of Lords to pursue financial reduction on the subject of taxation. He is brash and loud spoken and I will not have my name associated with such weak-minded theory.”

“Understood.” Rigby didn’t seem to mind the pithy answer, too engrossed in his own objective.

“Indeed.” The marquess nodded his head in affirmation. “Leonard will escort Fiona to the Collingsworth gathering tomorrow evening. I’ve already secured your invitation.” He reached into his left breast pocket and produced a letter written on ivory paper. “Your service comes highly recommended. A resourceful endeavor, if I may say, and of course, there is the matter of your price.” Rigby’s eyes flared, as if he wished to communicate everything left unsaid. “While an extraordinary amount, I’ll stop at nothing to see this through. Your associate explained the delicate nature of your finances and the oddity of circumstance.”

Rigby paused and a flash of conflicted sympathy colored his eyes.

Val’s right brow climbed. Delicate nature? Oddity of circumstance? The very devil. What did Jasper suggest to the man?

“When our business is completed, you’ll be richer by five thousand pounds.”

Rigby’s last three words yanked Val from his Jasperian considerations, and this time he remained silent, any final comment dissolved by the prospect of financial recovery.

Wilhelmina lowered the brim of her bonnet a full two inches before darting a glance beyond the overstocked shelves of McMulberry’s Literary Emporium. In a stroke of pure serendipity she’d visited Bond Street Millinery two days previous and found herself unwittingly involved in a conversation debating the intricacies of tatted blonde lace. Lady Rigby insisted the finest fripperies were imported from Belgium, while her companion, a formidable dowager with silver hair, insisted the most delicate creations originated in Spain. Wilhelmina, having entered the shop to purchase an agreeable muslin befitting a matchmaker’s gown, was drawn into the argument by fault of proximity and asked to settle the issue. She had no opportunity to object as a swath of each trimming was forced into her hands. Wilhelmina had chosen Belgium lace much to the overt disagreement of the silver-haired dowager who stormed off mumbling her discontent. In turn, she’d won the allegiance of Lady Rigby, who’d come to the millinery to purchase a gift for her son to offer the lady who’d caught his eye. Without pause, Lady Rigby launched into a lengthy dissertation on her yearning for grandchildren, thus presenting Wilhelmina the ideal opportunity to extend her matchmaking services. With alacrity, Lady Rigby accepted.

BOOK: Defying the Earl
5.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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