Anabelle Bryant - Defying The Earl

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.”