by Lucy Adams
Lord Henderson hesitated, then nodded to himself, as if he were confirming in his own mind what he meant to say. “Miss Wells is unlike any lady of your acquaintance,” he told Thomas, as though he did not know this already. “Therefore, you must study her.”
Recoiling, Thomas shook his head. “I want as little to do with her as possible. I know I must play the part of a regretful fool, and thereafter, a devoted gentleman, but I cannot allow myself to know her better than at present. There is no need to do so!”
“That is where you are mistaken,” Lord Henderson replied firmly. “That is precisely what you must do, if you seek to win your bet. You must do all you can to know her, to find out the person that she is. The other ladies of your acquaintance are nothing more than vapid figures, who bat their eyelashes and paint on their smiles for you. That is not so with Miss Wells. If you are to have her eager to accept your court, then you must dedicate yourself to the learning of her true self. Discover who she is. Look to what she enjoys and force yourself to become the devoted gentleman, even though you know that you have no true affection for her.”
Considering this, Thomas sipped his ratafia instead of throwing it back as he had done before. Perhaps Lord Henderson was correct in his suggestions, as much as Thomas did not want to admit it. It would mean transforming himself entirely—although it would be nothing more than a façade which he would place upon himself until the wager was won.
“At least consider my suggestion,” Lord Henderson said, looking over Thomas’s shoulder, a wry smile on his face. “Now, I shall not take up any more of your time, given that you have admirers already approaching you.” He chuckled and Thomas turned around to see none other than Lady Finnegan and her daughter approaching. They both had bright smiles on their faces, and the daughter had a touch of pink to her cheeks.
Thomas greeted them both warmly, finding himself relaxing as he returned to his usual state, unencumbered by thoughts of Miss Wells and the trials she was bringing him. This was the gentleman he was, the gentleman he knew himself to be. The smile returned to his face, the easiness of his manner coming back to him almost at once. He would succeed with Miss Wells; he was quite certain. But, for the moment, he would do nothing other than enjoy himself.
Chapter Six
Quite why she was looking over her reflection in the mirror, Merry did not know. Looking away from herself and back towards the guests who stood before her, all talking amongst themselves, Merry told herself sternly not to be so foolish. She disliked intensely being forced to don this gown, which was a trifle too low cut for her liking, and had certainly detested sitting in front of a mirror whilst a maid had twisted her hair this way and that as Lady Whitehaven watched attentively. It was the third time that she had been forced to endure such a thing, and her mother showed no sign of relenting. First, she had been preened for a small, intimate gathering of guests, and then had come the ball, where she had met with Lord Weston. Now, she was supposed to be enjoying a musical soiree, although the music itself was yet to start.
Merry sighed and, with an effort, prevented herself from leaning back against the wall. She had managed to escape from her mother’s clutches for a few minutes and had returned to what were familiar surroundings – the quiet edges of a room where she might escape unnoticed. Sighing again to herself, Merry tried not to allow her thoughts to turn to the one man she was meant to be disregarding entirely but found that despite her attempts, she could not prevent herself from considering him.
Lord Weston was rude and arrogant, that much she knew. However, she could not quite forget the look of desperation in his eyes, as he had practically begged her for another opportunity to speak to her, another opportunity to apologize for his manners towards her, and another opportunity for him to assuage his own guilt.
When she had said those words of his guilt, Merry had expected him to deny it at once, for to admit such a thing was to admit a failing in one’s character, but much to her surprise, Lord Weston had done no such thing. Instead, he had inclined his head and admitted that, yes, she was correct to state such a thing. That had come as something of a surprise, for she had not expected him to be so vulnerable towards her, and it was for this reason that she found herself struggling to push him from her thoughts.
Was it also why she was glancing at her reflection in the mirror again? Did she find herself wanting to look her very best in order to satisfy Lord Weston’s critical eye? She knew very well that she would never be a diamond of the first water, nor would she reach the heights of beauty and exuberance that Titania so easily exhibited, but for the first time in her life, Merry was beginning to think that there might be a little hope for her. It was not something she was ready to admit, and she certainly would not say it aloud to her mother, but being forced to wear delicate and beautiful gowns and having to endure her hair being scraped into various states of being had, in fact, garnered her a little more attention. Gentlemen had sought her out and asked her to dance at the ball she had attended last evening. Granted, her dance card had not been full, but it was a vast improvement to the usual empty card that had dangled from her wrist so many times before.
“But they only see the outward appearance,” Merry reminded herself, mumbling aloud. “None of them care for your character.”
But they might come to do so.
The thought made Merry catch her breath. Could there be such a possibility? Would she be able to find a gentleman who was willing to put in the time with her and the effort required to truly know the person she was? Someone who would not mind if she did not have seed pearls threaded through her hair or did not wear the highest fashion gown? A small ball of excitement settled in her stomach, and Merry allowed it to linger there, feeling as though she were looking at the London Season with fresh eyes. Perhaps, if she allowed herself to do so, she might find some enjoyment in the weeks that were to follow. Mayhap she might find herself caught up with a gentleman who could come to care for her in a deep and true manner. The possibilities opened up to her as she considered this a little further, the flames on the candelabra seeming to brighten all the more.
“Miss Wells. Good evening.”
She jumped visibly, startled by the voice that came to her ear. Turning, she saw none other than Lord Weston standing just to her right, bowing in front of her. She did not curtsy, a lump suddenly entering her throat as she looked up into his face. What was he doing here? She had not known he had been invited this evening and certainly did not think that it was at all proper for him to greet her in such a manner, especially when she was standing alone.
“You look very well this evening, Miss Wells.”
Stiffening, Merry lifted her chin a notch. “I did not know you were acquainted with Lady Greyson,” she replied quickly, speaking of this evening’s host who was something of wealthy widow, having lost her aged husband some eighteen months ago. “Although mayhap I should have expected it from someone as well-known as you are.” She made certain to keep her tone bland, although the truth of her meaning did not quite manage to slip past Lord Weston unnoticed. His lips thinned, and his brow lowered.
“My father was acquainted with the late Lord Greyson,” he retorted, a slight flush to his cheeks. “We were present on the day of his wedding to the now-widowed Lady Greyson.”
Merry, who did not much care for how Lord Weston knew anyone in particular, gave him a small smile and made to turn away, only for Lord Weston to take a small sidestep and prevent her from doing so.
“Do you have a few moments you might be able to spare me, Miss Wells?” he asked, the heat gone from his face now. “You did promise me that you would, did you not?”
“I did not promise, Lord Weston, no,” she told him calmly. “But to speak to you now, at this present moment, would not be suitable at all. The musical part of the evening is bound to start within a few minutes, and I do not want you to rush what must be said.” She gave him a sweet smile, but Lord Weston only grimaced.
“Then I shall sit with you
, Miss Wells,” he replied, surprising her. “For I do not think that I shall have another opportunity, given your apparent unwillingness to permit me to speak to you.”
Merry’s cheeks flared hot, and she was about to give him a resounding reply when Lady Greyson tapped her glass with a spoon and captured everyone’s attention. Her anger cooled somewhat as Lady Greyson begged them all to come into the next room where chairs had been set out in preparation. She also stated, most emphatically, that she hoped that some young ladies would be willing to perform on the pianoforte or might even sing, once the paid performers were finished.
“Might you wish to play, Miss Wells?” Lord Weston asked, close to her ear. Merry shivered softly before beginning to walk away from him, throwing back her answer over her shoulder.
“I shall be doing nothing other than sitting and listening, Lord Weston,” she replied with decisiveness. “For I have never found enjoyment in playing the pianoforte nor in filling a room with my voice. I do not seek attention from others…unlike many of the beau monde.”
She could see from the dark look that appeared on Lord Weston’s face that her words had hit their mark, finding that she did not feel any sort of guilt in speaking to him so. Rather, she felt a degree of satisfaction, feeling as though she had some sort of victory over the notorious rascal. She hoped that it might put him off from his intent of pursuing her and sitting with her, so as to speak to her of his supposed sorrow and guilt, but she was to be disappointed. Lord Weston followed her as though he were some sort of lap dog, willing to follow her wherever she went. Her mother was already waiting for her, with Titania seated with Lord Carroway. Beside her mother stood Catherine, her younger sister, and Dinah, Merry’s cousin. Both appeared to be finding this evening to be rather dull, for neither had a smile on their face or even an interested countenance. Instead, they simply faced forward and waited quietly for Merry to join them, although Lady Whitehaven looked to be rather intrigued as to why Lord Weston was following Merry so doggedly.
“Thank you, Mama,” Merry said, quietly, as she drew near. “Are we ready to seat ourselves?”
“Indeed we are,” Lady Whitehaven murmured, throwing a quick glance in the direction of Lord Weston, who murmured a greeting. “Are you quite all right, my dear?”
“I am perfectly well,” Merry replied, not looking behind her nor making an acknowledgement to Lord Weston. “I am looking forward to hearing the performance by the string quartet. Shall we sit without delay?”
Lady Whitehaven nodded, giving Merry another concerned look, before leading the way and sitting down with Dinah and Catherine on one side, leaving space for Merry and Lord Weston on the other. Merry took her seat without a murmur to Lord Weston, looking straight ahead so that she would not even have to glance in his direction.
“Do you enjoy music, Miss Wells?”
She stiffened involuntarily, hating that she was having to engage with this gentleman. Irritated that she had given him so many of her thoughts since last evening, she tried her best to give him as brief an answer as she could. “I do.”
“It is just since you informed me that you did not enjoy playing the pianoforte, I wondered if music was something that you were not at all inclined towards,” he replied, surprising her with his thoughts on the matter.
“Just because I do not enjoy spending hours seated at an instrument so that I might play it proficiently does not mean that I do not enjoy music, Lord Weston,” she told him, giving him a quick glance and finding the intensity of his gaze to be rather overwhelming. Looking away, she tried to focus her intent back upon the gathered musicians, who were waiting for a cue from Lady Greyson before they began. “Now, pray, say whatever it is that you wish to say to me so that we might be finished with this conversation.” And our acquaintance, she thought to herself, a touch wryly.
Lord Weston let out a long, audible sigh, and out of the corner of her eye, Merry saw him watching her. Her stomach twisted. Was she being unnecessarily cruel?
“I wish to tell you, Miss Wells, that I have reflected on my behavior and find it to be utterly unacceptable.”
She looked at him then, one brow arched. “Is that so?”
“Indeed,” he replied, looking despondent. “I will not pretend that being denied by a lady is something I am used to, Miss Wells, which might be why I reacted in such an unfortunate manner.”
Unable to pretend that she was not curious as to what he meant, Merry allowed herself a question. “You mean to say that I am the first lady of your acquaintance to refuse your request for a dance, Lord Weston?”
He nodded, a rueful smile touching the corner of his lips. “Indeed, Miss Wells. Does that shock you?”
She hesitated, before lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. “It does not matter what I think, Lord Weston. I am grateful that you have reflected on your manner towards me. I do hope that next time a young lady refuses you, you will know better how to respond.”
“I shall,” he replied softly, his voice dropping low as Lady Greyson came to stand before the front of the assembled crowd. “I thank you for the opportunity to… ‘assuage my guilt’ in this manner, as you put it, Miss Wells.”
A flare of heat touched her cheeks, but she did not look at him again. “You are most welcome, Lord Weston.”
“You are one of the most interesting young ladies I believe I have ever met, Miss Wells,” he finished, as Lady Greyson called them all to attention. “What a shame we must now bring our acquaintance to an end. If you would give me another opportunity at any time, then I would be grateful for the chance to prove to you that I am not the rude, arrogant gentleman you believe me to be.”
Merry said nothing to this, focusing all her attention on the musicians as they picked up their bows and prepared to begin their first piece. A strange sensation began to come over her as she listened, growing far too aware of Lord Weston sitting next to her. He had appeared more than genuine as he had spoken to her, although she knew that he could be very eloquent should he wish to be. It was one of his many charms, and she was not about to give in to him.
I am not the rude, arrogant gentleman you believe me to be.
This had been said with such eagerness that a part of her wanted to believe him. She wanted to give him the opportunity to begin their acquaintance again, but something held her back. Was she not quite convinced that almost all gentlemen saw nothing but the outward appearance and cared nothing for the truth of a lady’s character? Why should she think any less of a gentleman who the entirety of London society knew to be a rogue? Had not Titania told her that he enjoyed the company of young ladies and rich widows? Why should she think that he was genuine in anything he said?
And yet, as she continued to sit by him, continued to feel his presence next to her and allowed his words to run around her mind, Merry felt herself softening. Perhaps he had simply made a mistake in speaking to her as he had done. If she had truly been the first lady of his acquaintance to refuse to step out with him, then was it not understandable that he had reacted with such vehemence? No doubt Dinah would tell her that she ought to forgive him, for he had apologized and she had accepted it. Therefore, she should not hold a grudge against him nor allow herself to remain aloof and distant.
A long sigh escaped her as the piece came to an end, and much to her surprise, Merry found herself swallowing a lump in her throat. She could not say what it was that had affected her in such a fashion, for whilst the music had been more than lovely, it had not grasped at her heart. Nor could it be that Lord Weston affected her, for she was doing all she could to ignore his presence despite the thoughts that ran through her mind.
Unless it was, mayhap, that for the first time since she had arrived in London, Merry had been truly enjoying herself. She had not sat quietly, lost amongst the crowd and fully aware of her plain face and how she had been passed over so many times. Nor had she been frustrated with herself, for her lack of willingness to leave the shadows and actually converse with those about her. Instea
d, she had felt as though she belonged here. She had enjoyed the music, enjoyed the atmosphere, and had not once felt herself sorrowful nor regretful. It had been the most illuminating experience, and with it came a flood of emotion.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Wells?”
She blinked rapidly before looking to Lord Weston, surprised to see the concern etched into his expression. “I am very well, I thank you,” she replied hastily, glad that she had been able to control her tears. “It is just that I feel myself a little overcome.”
Lord Weston smiled, as though he understood, although Merry privately thought that he would have no true understanding of what she meant. He did not appear to be the sort of gentleman who allowed his emotions to overwhelm him.
“Do excuse me.” She rose from her seat, giving a quick word of explanation to her mother before making her way out of the row of seats. The powder room would give her the quietness and the space she would need to regain her composure entirely, as well as help her to push aside all the strange thoughts that had flooded her mind as regarded Lord Weston.
“Do you need me to accompany you, Miss Wells?”
“No, I thank you.” Hesitating, Merry looked into Lord Weston’s face and wondered if she ought to give him the second chance that he so desperately craved. Her heart quailed at the thought, her mind screaming that she would be making the wrong decision but yet something within her wanted her to speak to him.
“Miss Wells?”
She swallowed and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Mayhap we shall have the opportunity to speak again, Lord Weston, at the next social occasion we both attend.”
Lord Weston blinked in evident surprise only for a slow smile to spread across his face. As much as she did not wish to, Merry felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of his handsome face with his attention solely on her.
“I should be very glad of the chance to speak to you whenever you may wish it, Miss Wells,” he told her, inclining his head. “I thank you. You have given me a sliver of hope, and for that, I am truly grateful.”