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Defying The Earl. Anabelle Bryant
Читать онлайн.Название Defying The Earl
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474034166
Автор произведения Anabelle Bryant
Издательство HarperCollins
“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.”
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.