Defying The Earl

“I’ve known Leonard Rigby since Eton and I’m not so sure the boot isn’t on the other leg.” Val took a long swallow of brandy in hope it would smooth the wrinkles of his discontent, then glanced at his own boots, caked with mud and water-stained. An image of the unsettled beauty he’d met earlier flittered through his mind with intense clarity and this time he allowed it to remain. Perhaps if he concentrated on her delicate features and lovely sable eyes he could escape the ever present absurdity of this situation. He scoffed at the fleeting proposition. “Nevertheless it matters little. At the end of this venture we’ll be that much richer and on our way, albeit in a small stride, to financial recovery. That is as long as you mend your ways. If cavorting is on your schedule, make damn sure Randolph is doing the spending.” He flicked his eyes to the front window. “Where is One-Eyed Jack? Does Beaufort rent stalls in the nearby mews? I left Arcadia tied to a post near the curb. The last thing I need is to have my horse stolen.” Arcadia was the one constant in his life and a dear friend. A dependable, strong animal who didn’t talk back, spend money, or tread on his emotions.

“There is a stable around the corner. I’ll bring you afterward. Let me show you abovestairs and you can choose your room. I suspect you’ll need use of a tailor, although Beaufort has an extensive wardrobe. He may not mind if you borrow a coat or two.”

Valerian eyed the black velvet waistcoat abandoned on the couch with obvious distaste, then dashed his eyes to Randolph’s collapsed form. The vivid embroidery of his puce ensemble merged with the ambitious pattern of the Persian rug. “No, I think not, Jasper. Our tastes do not run parallel.”

Chapter Five (#ulink_04b7c6f6-01e1-5f78-96e5-7ff2a315cf05)

Wilhelmina returned home in great hurry. Having directed the hackney to let her off on the corner, she’d walked with vigor to Aunt Kate’s town house. A little out of breath and mentally disassembled, she rushed through the door and directly to her bedchamber, hoping no one would question her disheveled state of dress, although falling into a muddy puddle would supply a needed excuse for her tardiness if anyone inquired. Her thoughts whirled with a flurry of excitement and curiosity, but not from meeting Lady Rigby. Encouraging a match between Leonard and Fiona should prove easy since they already held each other in esteem.

Instead, her thunderous heartbeat and quivering nerves were due to the stranger and their interesting, almost intimate, encounter on the street. Why, the gentleman had been condescending, overbearing, rigidly stoic and undeniably handsome. She lingered on the last observation, recalling the wondrous shade of his eyes, the hard line of his chin, and the strength of his hand as he assisted her from the roadway. She should feel outrage at his treatment, and disapproval at his rudeness, but curiosity and desire swamped her, drowning the righteous objections and encouraging she relive the encounter with exacting detail.

Shedding her soiled skirts and slippers, and thankful she’d dried enough not to dirty everything in her wake, Wilhelmina dressed in a simple day gown and settled at her escritoire near the front window. Setting pen to paper, she detailed every specific she could remember about the mysterious stranger and their unlikely encounter. Then she allowed it to dry and pasted it neatly onto a fresh page in her keepsake book.

She paused, her fingers skimming the words. She could hear his voice in her imagination; the deep tenor of his words causing goosebumps to trace her arms. Good heavens, how fanciful. She slammed the book closed before burying it below the extra coverlet inside the trunk at the foot of her bed. Then she hurried to her sister’s bedchamber intent on regaling Livie with the details of her morning, but with every stride she reconsidered.

By the time she reached Livie’s rooms, Wilhelmina had decided it best not to mention the overbearing and terribly dashing gentleman on Oxford Street. Perhaps that encounter was one left to her heart and imagination. She’d never see him again, one stranger in an overpopulated city…most especially when she hardly left Aunt Kate’s town house. Truly, where was the harm in harboring one little fantasy about an elusive, mysterious stranger? It could lead nowhere except when replayed in her overactive memory.

In the same fashion as a monotony of mornings, she found Livie sitting upright in her bed, her eyes bright behind her wire-rimmed spectacles. A lap desk was pushed off to the side as if she’d been reading or writing earlier in the day.

“I have quite a bit of news to share. Are you up for the details?” With a cheery smile, Wilhelmina swept into the room intent on retelling her adventure with Lady Rigby in such descriptive language Livie would experience it too. A shadow of regret caused her smile to falter before she buoyed it back into place. Livie deserved a proper come out, extravagant parties, and a bevy of suitors instead of the torment served her by their parent’s carriage accident.

A shiver traced her spine with the ever present memory. The coach had lost a wheel, diverged from the roadway, throwing the driver to his death before rolling down a steep embankment and settling on its side. Their parents were killed, but the worst of the accident, if there existed any one pinnacle to be labeled singularly cruel, was that Livie remained pinned beneath Mother and Father’s bodies, her legs broken and useless, her strength weakened from blood loss and a traumatic strike to the head. She lay helpless under the weight of her beloved parents, waiting. One could only imagine what she heard during that time or the distraught agony of her thoughts while she suffered through the night.

Livie refused to discuss it at any length, and Wilhelmina prayed her sister was unconscious for the duration, as it took nearly ten hours before the coach was recovered from that countryside roadway ditch.

A violent wave of despair squeezed her heart. The accident had been Wilhelmina’s fault. She would never recover from her foolish decisions that night.

“Yes, yes. I have been able to think of little else.” Livie patted the comforter beside her. “Come and tell me everything.”

The following evening, under no guise, Aunt Kate and Wilhelmina climbed into a hired coach and left for the Collingsworth dinner party. Having received an invitation instigated by Lady Rigby’s meddling, Wilhelmina had the sharp mind to request her aunt accompany her, more of a companion than a chaperone although both labels applied. The mild manipulation of truth assuaged Wilhelmina’s burdened conscience. At first Aunt Kate had declined, knowing Livie would be left at home with only her nurse for company, but eventually she’d relented.

“You do look lovely, Whimsy. How clever of you to choose the lavender silk. A few bright trims and you’ve turned last year’s fashion into a bright vision, although I refuse to allow you to dissuade me again. One day very soon I insist on purchasing new gowns for you, most especially if you choose to become more active in society.” Aunt Kate tapped Wilhelmina’s knee with the tip of her fan. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology. I answered too quickly when you first presented this invitation. While we both worry over Livie’s welfare, I cannot neglect my duties in seeing you experience the season as well. Please know I am thrilled to accompany you this evening and hope tonight leads to many more exciting excursions.”

“Thank you. Of course I understand.” Wilhelmina offered her aunt a reassuring smile. “I troubled over the opportunity as well, but Livie insisted I accept and truly, she’s in very good hands. Nurse will likely have her pacing the room before she goes to sleep with the incentive she will soon take the same strides across a ballroom.”

“It is my wish. The two of you have experienced such tragedy, but Livie…I worry about her. She barely speaks of the accident and with the limitations of her condition, cannot escape for a time by visiting friends or strolling in the park. She is fragile in many ways. I shudder to think of her experiences that night.” Aunt Kate’s mouth pressed tight in a rueful grimace and for several long moments the only sounds heard were the carriage wheels revolving against the roadway cobbles. With a sigh, Wilhelmina wondered if her aunt would continue the conversation, the circumstances surrounding that evening tangled tight with heavy emotions, but no, they sat in quietude.

Eventually the coach slowed and when the steps were extended, it forced the women from their pensive considerations. Wilhelmina held tightly to her aunt’s arm and entered the Collingsworth residence. The town house was long and narrow, accentuated by the lengthy hall and ornamental moldings forming synchronized rectangles along the walls in varying shades of cyan. A footman took their shawls and at his direction, they ventured further into the home to a large drawing room, its interior decorated in peacock and ochre gold. Several people had already arrived, drinks were plentiful and small clusters of friends were gathered in corners, determined to flirt, socialize, and gossip. It was the trademark of any successful gathering, yet Wilhelmina hesitated, uncomfortable amidst the crowd. Her pulse jumped with insecurity all too anxious to remind she was nothing more than a country miss disguised as a city socialite and hired to bring together two people whom she did not know.

She bit her lower lit and steeled her courage. Best to get on with the task at hand. Moments later, her aunt provided the opportunity Wilhelmina desired.

“I see an old friend who I haven’t spoken to in decades. You don’t mind, do you, Whimsy? You’ll be fine?”

Relieved to disperse the need for fabrication, Wilhelmina nodded assent, and turned toward the drawing room, straightening her spine with hollow fortitude and dispersing an anxious quake of nerves. Armed with Lady Rigby’s detailed description, Wilhelmina noted Lady Fiona conversing in a quiet corner with two young ladies, one of whom she’d met previously when her aunt’s acquaintance brought her niece to tea. The ladies stood beside an overfilled bookcase where one guest held a volume in her gloved hands, the group’s animated conversation seeming to refer to the opened pages. How brilliant. Books posed a safe topic and talk of literature would serve perfectly were Wilhelmina to eloquently assert herself into their conversation and avail an introduction to Lady Fiona. She possessed a treasure trove of knowledge having read every book in her father’s expansive library before parting with the volumes. Feeling a trifle more self-assured, Wilhelmina stepped in their direction.

Valerian tugged at the hem of his waistcoat, relieved the tailor had had an adequate sample available when he’d placed his conservative order. He held no desire to be noticed and preferred the pretense of a more determined force from the shadows. The charcoal grey wool presented a respectable image, one innocuous, forgettable, and conducive to his goal. It was pure serendipity when he arrived at the same moment as Leonard Rigby. Valerian made haste to fall in step with his old acquaintance as he walked up the gravel drive.

“Rigby, is that you? It’s been some time.” Valerian extended his hand and offered a cordial welcome.

“Dash, this is a surprise and yes, it’s been years. I recall seeing your brother about town a few weeks ago, but I never anticipated your company. You’ve kept a low profile, although at times I too favor the countryside instead of the city.”

An odd moment passed as each gentleman knew the main reason Valerian avoided London. Memories of Caroline were too fresh at first. Every event, invitation, and stroll in the park served as cutting suggestion of what might have been, not to mention the public humiliation of enduring the flaming gossip of one’s fiancé being caught in flagrante delicto during the season’s most well attended gathering.

Worse, it forced one to engage an introspective examination of why such humiliation was perpetrated. Surely his intentions and emotions had been honest. Yet what had they been worth? The question evoked a wry smile. Caroline had measured his value in pounds and banknotes, not to be swayed by loyalty, devotion or something so trifling as love.

It had made for an easy choice. Returning to the security of somewhere dependable and comforting proved the best decision and Kirby Park had not disappointed. His well-loved childhood home provided seclusion and quiet; the perfect atmosphere to lick his wounds and forget – attempt to forget – Caroline’s infidelity.

Unexpectedly, country life grew on Val, like moss on a tree, one needing the other for survival until the thought of returning to London with its crowded streets and constant aristocratic demands paled greatly to the rolling green hills outside his window. His decision proved timely with the decline of his father soon after his return. He would never forgive himself if he hadn’t been there to tend his father during those final days.

Surely Leonard knew it by half.

“Responsibility, nothing more.” He answered the question and ignored the sharp twist in his heart.

“My condolences on your father’s passing.” Rigby’s words were sincerely spoken.

“Thank you. He is greatly missed.” Determined to take full advantage of his opportune arrival, Valerian inquired of the event as they approached the main entry. “I’m a bit out of practice. I don’t suppose you’d abide company until we are well underway?”

Rigby, in a noticeable hurry, didn’t allow the question to deflect his purpose. He indicated the main entry with a flick of his pointer finger and showed no hesitation. “Come along then.”

A servant dressed in Collingsworth livery opened the mahogany door and ushered them inside. “Let’s dispense of this mood and forge into the drawing room. You’re not on the hunt for a wife, are you, Dash?” Rigby hardly paused to hear his answer. “This season offers ladies aplenty.”

“Nothing so valiant, I assure you.” He resisted the urge to chuckle at the irony of it all. From his point of view, he remained emotionally numb to romantic relationships and all the better for it.

“Then I’ve no need to stand guard against the lady who’s stolen my heart. I’ll immerse you in the festivities by way of introduction. It’s the least I can do after initiating such somber conversation earlier. Grab yourself a drink and follow me.”

Valerian did as he was told although his brother’s words, of Lady Fiona possessing the same characteristics as a church-bell and his rebuttal in favor of Leonard’s vociferous tendency, rang with clarity. He lifted a snifter of brandy from a passing servant’s tray and followed Leonard into the fray. The room was crowded and served him well as he melded into the background and surveyed the best manner to proceed. Matchbreaking was not something he’d ever attempted before and, coupled with Leonard’s brimming anticipation at seeing Lady Fiona, his conscious needed a firm reminder of his dire financial straits. He took a long swallow from his glass, savoring the liquor he couldn’t afford in his own home, and maneuvered through the crowd with purpose. When Rigby stopped, Valerian sidled near the small grouping in a far corner of the room.

Two women stood cooing over an open book while a third female, a petite miss in a muted lavender-colored gown, had her back to the room as she faced the far shelf. Valerian watched as the woman traced a gloved finger down the spine of a tall volume, pausing as if considering her selection with great deliberation, before moving on to repeat the action with each subsequent volume. Her lingering stroke down each title caused his heart to tighten and his groin to heat, the visceral reaction catching him off guard. Perhaps the brandy impaired his reasoning.

Otherwise, there existed no rationalization for the quickening of his pulse and the innate level on which his body responded to the stretch of her palm tipping the binding, the subtle caress of her fingertip as it traced the gold lettering, and surprising most of all, her intense deliberation, though sight unseen, as she made a final decision and selected a volume from the shelves lining the back wall. He shook his head to extinguish the absurd fascination and forced his attention to the conversation underway.

Leonard launched into proper introductions but Valerian heard little, temporarily distracted as the petite miss turned, a cascade of wavy hair the exact color of burnt honey falling over her shoulder with the action. Before him stood the winsome miss who’d pulled him into a mud puddle the day before. Her eyes flared with recognition and he stifled the immediate chuckle that danced on his tongue. Oh, but the evening would prove interesting.

How could it be? Wilhelmina held her breath as introductions concluded, but the maddened beat of her heart drowned out all voices and words. Before her, impeccably dressed in fine grey wool, stood the mysterious tyrant who assisted her from the wheel ruts after she’d met with Lady Rigby on Oxford Street. His memory invaded her daydreams ever since, but her musings had been wrong, her assumptions incorrect. He was not devilishly handsome, his eyes not entrancing in the least. He was more. Much more. Her brain sputtered to produce some adjective that applied but all paled in consideration.

Good heavens, she would appear a bird-wit.

Wilhelmina extended her hand as he reached forward, only to drop the book she’d just claimed. With increasing mortification, she knelt to retrieve the volume and he did in kind. They bumped heads effectively on the way down to the carpet. His velvet murmur of amusement warmed her to the core, tracing over her skin and settling deep in her belly with a joyful fluttering.

“Now this is a surprise.”

There they crouched, two adults at knee level among the gowns and suits of a crowded drawing room affair. The filtered candlelight cast his chiseled features in shadow and all she could see clearly was the sharp angle of his nose, the dark slash of his brows. Wilhelmina’s heart stopped beating. She raised her eyes to his as someone adjusted their position above, allowing a fleeting sliver of light within their shadowed rendezvous. When his eyes met hers, midnight blue pierced her soul. Dragging a ragged breath, she failed to produce words, flippant, eloquent or otherwise.

“It would appear, my sweet, you have it in your mind to extinguish my existence; first by drowning in a mud puddle, and now by a rap to the head.”

If only something charming came to mind, but she felt a stuttering loss. Would her sharp tongue suddenly fail her when she needed it most? This disruptive grip of nervousness was his fault. He unsettled her to the core.

His lips, that delightful cleft in his strong chin, were but a whisper away, so close she could feel the heat of his exhale across her cheek, and his pervasive fragrance, a mixture of neroli and cloves, filled her nostrils and drenched her soul. What would it feel like to be kissed by such a dashing gentleman? She could only wonder, the intimacy unfamiliar, although that fluttering renewed in her belly…and other places too.