My knees fidgeted in anticipation. The sooner I secured a proposal, the sooner I would put Mama at ease, and today was my first opportunity to act upon it.
“What is troubling you?”
I looked up to find William’s hazel eyes staring at me perceptively. “Nothing of consequence.”
“You’re picking at your skirt again.”
My eyes dropped to see he was right. For as hard as he was to read, he could read everyone else like open books, and how I hated when his skill was put into practice on me. I folded my hands to keep them from fidgeting.
“Ah, you are angry at me.”
The carriage hit a particularly bumpy patch of ground, and it wasn’t until the worst of the jostling had stopped that I finally managed a confused look.
“Yes, now I see,” he went on. “You are angry about how I left you with Allerton!” He clucked his tongue. “Oh Eliza, you cannot hide behind me forever. You are so lively and exuberant among your acquaintances, and yet so reserved in a crowd. You must be more outgoing—men admire that sort of thing. Indeed, and you are always saying how you want to fall in love. I was merely paving the way.” His arm made a broad, sweeping motion.
I mulled his words over. Though I wanted to be thrown in the path of eligible men, I certainly didn’t want William to be doing the shoving. To him, it would be a game—one he’d be rooting for me to lose.
But as far as my behavior, he was exactly right. I needed to be more outgoing, more flirtatious. More like him. At that thought, an idea popped into my head.
“Would you teach me?”
“How to fall in love? Can’t help you there.”
“How to flirt.”
One dark eyebrow cocked above his smirk. “You wish to be versed in the dark arts, do you?” Before I could respond he added, “Dear Eliza, you aren’t asking me to flirt with you, are you?”
My mouth ran dry. “Of course not! Only to teach me—”
“The best way to learn is to do it yourself—and who better than I to practice on?”
I couldn’t argue with that logic. William was the only one who could teach me, as well as the only one I’d be safe to practice on. Still, something about the idea of pretend-flirting with William rang uncomfortable. Dangerous in a way I couldn’t name.
I was being silly. Mama was unwell, and did I want to obtain a suitor or not?
“Fine,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “Could prove to be a fun little game.”
William smiled as if he’d won something. “Why the sudden interest in flirting? I thought you hated it.”
“A girl ought to know these things. And since I have decided to get a husband, it might prove useful in my conquest.”
He turned his head in surprised interest. “A husband? What the devil would you do with one of those?”
“Live the rest of my life with someone I love unconditionally, basking in mutual friendship and trust.”
“Sounds atrocious.”
I smiled to myself at that. After all these years of pining away for the perfect man, I’d grown accustomed to hearing William’s opinion on the matter. He’d never kept quiet about the fact that I was being foolish—and so was any girl who dreamed of true love. In his mind, true love was a heap of rubbish. It was strange that we were friends when our desires were so at odds.
William sat back with a sigh. “Well, whoever the man is, I must give him the key to your heart.”
My gaze swung over to see his eyes brimming with amusement. “Already you are starting my flirting lessons?”
“Oh, I wasn’t flirting.” But he must have known I would think that. “I simply know that where your heart truly lies, is in poetry.” His dark eyebrows bobbed once.
I swallowed convulsively. The poetry.
It began last summer, when William had stayed a fortnight at Ambleside. I mentioned my love of poetry to him and he promptly expressed his dislike for it in return. In defiance, I marched him up to the library where I shoved a book in his lap and ordered him to read. After several pages of him butchering the passages, I took the book from him and read the exact same poem, only slower, and with fervor.
He had watched me in fascination—for once, at a loss for words. When I finished and found his warm gaze upon me, I colored and stuttered an apology. Instead of accepting it, William stood, took the book and turned the page, before murmuring, “Go on.”
The look in his eyes had been so raw. So . . . captivated.
And oh. I dared not see it there again.
Since our little “poetry lesson,” William had taken up the pen himself, as a joke. I’m sure he hadn’t been expecting to find that he was actually quite good. It was a habit of ours to leave silly poems for each other in the poetry box—and they were always silly, for William insisted he couldn’t write a serious poem to save his life.
The rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones was slowing down. We had arrived. Before the carriage had completely ground to a halt, William swung the door open and hopped down. After helping me out, we proceeded up an elaborate brick staircase and were greeted in the foyer by a footman who took our coats.
It was the laughter I heard first. The obnoxious sound shook the grand house, chocked full of a few dozen voices. We traipsed down a hallway to a drawing room.
The room was large for entertaining, with plastered medallion ceilings and a stately marble fireplace which blazed, even though the room was overly stuffy. The green wallpaper held glinting paintings, most of them taller and wider than I was.
One whole wall was devoted to refreshments, and I was sure it couldn’t all be eaten in one afternoon—not by a hundred people. Piles of rout cakes, Shrewsbury cakes, open apple tart, chocolate cream, and almond pudding bedecked mahogany end tables, while wigged servants pushed two separate tea carts around the room, serving the guests. And how many there were! At least twenty of them lounged in the stuffed chairs and sofas, which sat atop two great, arabesque rugs.
I shrunk back. There were so many new faces.
Stop it, Eliza, I told myself. Be outgoing. Be exuberant. I was here to weigh potential husbands and forward relationships. And, if the chance presented itself, employ my matchmaker as well. For Mama, and for my own happiness, I needed to attract men and discover my mysterious suitor’s identity, and I couldn’t accomplish that by cowering in some corner.
I rolled by shoulders back.
Lady Prima spied us. “Bentley! You must come to me this moment, for Lady Iris is telling the most humorous joke!”
Arm in arm, we made our way to the middle of the room to Lady Prima. On the table before her sat a feast fit for a king, and she was making a worthy effort to put it away, though it didn’t stop her from giggling. “And what did the man say to that?” she asked the woman seated across from her.
“What you might expect,” replied the woman I assumed was Lady Iris, her voice riddled with a slight French accent. “After all, sometimes the only thing preventing a man from telling a bare-faced lie is a mustache.”
Lady Prima must’ve swallowed at some point, because she threw her head back and chortled, and everyone within earshot followed suit.
Because of the crowd, I had to peek over William’s shoulder to see Lady Iris. Under dark, amber hair and sparkling blue eyes were cheekbones high enough to inspire any artist. She held her mouth in a perpetual pinch, as if she knew a secret the rest of the world did not. An air of haughtiness and boredom surrounded her, contradicting the way she entertained the whole group.
“Oh, I must know the man’s name!” Lady Prima cried. “I wouldn’t repeat it to anyone else, mind you—for I am not one to gossip—but I must know if I have guessed the man correctly.”
“I am afraid he lacks the pleasure of your association,” Lady Iris clucked.
Lady Prima tittered at the comment, which made me wonder if I imagined the flash of sarcasm that had appeared on Lady Iris’ face. “But I know everyone in London—surely I have at least heard of him.
”
Lady Iris’ eyebrow cocked. “Let us make a wager then.”
The laughter subsided, and several voices murmured in the group. Judging from the snippets of whispers I picked up, this type of behavior was typical of Lady Iris.
“I could not, I am sure!” Lady Prima said good-naturedly. “But please do tell me his name. I must know what type of man could say such scandalous things.”
Lady Iris sighed in mock pity. “I am sorry, Lady Prima. No wager, no information.”
“Oh, how you tease me so—nearly as much as Sir William! Bentley, you must convince her to tell me the man’s name at once.”
All of Lady Iris’ smugness disappeared when she caught sight of William. Her face blanked, before she smiled sweetly at him. “Hello, William. It is nice to see you again.”
Something inside me shriveled up. William? She had called him William? I had never heard anyone call him by his Christian name, except for me and Mama, and sometimes Matthew—and only because our families shared a long history.
Even if her reference wasn’t unwelcome, it was bold to say the least.
William’s shoulders tensed, but nothing else suggested he was uncomfortable. His face was all politeness and charm. “Lady Iris,” he dipped his head, “the pleasure is all mine.”
“How long has it been, do you think?” she asked. “Three years?”
“Four, if I remember. The last I saw of you, you were paddling back to France, right after you were thrust into such fortunate circumstances.” There was a tiny bite behind his words—one so small, you’d have to know him well to identify it.
So I was sure Lady Iris did.
“Fortunate circumstances indeed.” If she was annoyed at William’s comment, she didn’t show it. She met my gaze above William’s shoulder. “Who is that hiding behind you?” I made myself shuffle forward before any prodding on William’s part could be done, and he introduced me to her.
“You certainly haven’t changed,” Lady Iris said to William once it was finished, snapping her fan open. “At least in regards to the company you keep.”
One of his dark brows arched. “You could not pay me a higher compliment—for Eliza is an angel.”
“Mm.” She eyed me again, her interest intensifying. “Even angels have their naughty little secrets.”
Be outgoing.
“I am no angel, Lady Iris.”
The whole group turned, as if surprised I would speak while they all weighed me on their scales of morality. My heart pounded wildly under so many pairs of eyes.
“Indeed?” Her condescending tone matched her arrogant expression. “That is something only an angel would say, Miss Wycliffe. And now you are to tell me you are not an angel—for you lack their perfection.”
“Not at all,” I said. “But I do lack the wings.”
Everyone sat in a long, stunned silence, until all at once they exploded with laughter. Heat rose to my face, but I couldn’t help the little quirk to my lips as I stared at Lady Iris. Her eyelids thinned.
“You see what I mean, Lady Iris?” Lady Prima giggled. “Oh, how Miss Wycliffe makes me laugh!”
At last, the laughter subsided, and Lady Iris sat back and said, “I like you,” causing me to blink in disbelief. “At first you appear coy, and I cannot stand coy women. But upon closer relation, you have very decided opinions. I like that in a friend.”
The crowd turned to me and waited for my response. I studied her innocent posture, her all-knowing gaze. Lady Iris certainly wasn’t the type of character I made friends with. She had just sent an olive branch my way, but I was wary to accept it. And yet, to reject it in front of so many spectators would be unpardonably rude. I opted for something in-between.
“And opinions formed after first impressions—would you not agree they are the most important? Indeed, and should be adhered to, if they are negative?”
Ever so slightly, Lady Iris’ eyes narrowed and swung between me and William. I glanced at William as well. He was watching Lady Iris evenly, a very pleased smile gracing his lips.
Pleased with me.
“I daresay I agree,” William said. “First impressions are hardly ever wrong. If you will excuse us.” He bowed, took my arm, and led me away from the crowd. He eventually let me go and leaned against the wall. “It was high time someone put her in her place.”
I crossed my arms. “I could barely form the words, with everyone staring at me so.”
“You did wonderfully.” It was then that I noticed how William was watching me, drinking in my face.
“What is that smug look of yours for?”
His grin widened. “Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing, my foot. You only make that face when you think you’ve been very clever.”
His free shoulder shrugged. “Perhaps I have been. For today is proof that you have already been taking lessons from me. The kind of mocking others with a smile on your face. I’m sure half the company did not interpret your meaning. Oh, but Lady Iris did. To mock her so after she derided you! There was something petulant about your lips when you said it. Really, I don’t know when I’ve found you more alluring . . .”
An image of William studying my lips flashed through my mind, and on instinct I repressed it. Then I caught his expression and realized he was flirting. That it was pretend. Of course, William had said such a thing for my flirting lessons! But I hadn’t expected him to set to work so soon. He had uttered the words so convincingly, I couldn’t help but believe him for a moment.
“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to flirt back?” I thought for a moment, but when I still didn’t respond, William said, “Here, I shall give you another chance.”
Before I could mentally prepare, he edged closer. The smell of warm vanilla hit my nose. The back of William’s hand stroked my cheek as he murmured, “Really, I don’t know when I’ve found you more alluring . . .”
He was much too good at this.
I knew that for my benefit he was lying, but there was something about William that made a girl want to believe him—even when you knew he lied. I’d watched it play out on the countless girls he had wooed. They fell for his smiles, his charm, for his intoxicating ability to lie through his teeth. To them, the truth didn’t matter, as long as the picture he painted was beautiful enough.
And it always was.
William’s hand grew warm against my cheek. One of his fingers twisted a wisp of my hair as it fell away. He was still waiting. I licked my lips.
“Then I shall endeavor to refrain from such speeches in the future.”
William broke his fake, enraptured look to breathe a laugh. “Refrain?”
I closed my eyes. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“Gads, ‘Liza, I have more work cut out for me than I thought.”
Devil take it, there was no use denying it anymore. I was inept. “On to this husband hunting business,” I said, changing topics in an effort to distract William from my heating face. “I must make the most of this outing.”
“Ever the romantic, aren’t you?” William pretended to survey the room with a deep interest. “What about Lord Kipling? Or maybe Mr. Beasley or Mr. Cunningham would make a nice husband.” I grimaced. He was suggesting only the old fat ones on purpose. He chuckled. “Come, you will find it is actually the smarter thing. This way, you won’t have to be married to them as long, for they shall die sooner.”
“Do not be so heartless,” I said.
“Shall we not try it the other way round? You suggest someone to me, and I shall tell you my opinion of them.”
“Mm . . .” I looked around for a candidate. “Colonel Ashby?”
“Too military.”
“Sir Hastings?”
“Too temperamental.”
“Mr. Richardson?”
“Too pious.”
“Surely you cannot find fault in Mr. Salisbury.”
“Ha! That is an easy one. Too ugly.”
I analyzed all the room’s occupants, n
ot particularly liking any of the options. My eyes snagged on the Duke of Allerton by the fireplace. He had seemed nice enough the other night. Not only was he titled, but he cut a fine figure, very dashing despite his reserved nature. Mama’s advice about him echoed in my ears.
What if I was wrong? What if my suitor’s face never focused in and revealed his identity to me, as I’d expected? I could be searching forever and never find him, if that were the case. But what if it was for a reason? What if, by chance . . . I’d already met him, but hadn’t realized it?
“What of the duke?” I asked.
William’s head swiveled around until he spotted him. “Ah, Allerton? He’s a good enough chap, I suppose, though I don’t really know him. To be sure, he’s the kind of man every woman aspires to marry—handsome, rich, titled. But I think he is too shy for you.”
William’s lengthy description of the duke ought to count for something, I thought, when everyone else had only managed to get two words of dismissal from him. I glanced around once more, no more prospects coming out of the grain.
My assessment stopped when it landed back on William. I didn’t know why I was looking at him, taking in his profile, when it was already as familiar to me as the feeling of clothes on my skin or air in my lungs. His wavy, dark blonde hair, his coffee-brown eyebrows, his straight nose, his full, smiling lips, his strong jaw.
“Any more?” William asked, hand gesturing to the lot of them. “Has anyone else caught your eye?”
“You.”
Why had I said that?
His smile trickled off as he turned back to face me. He blinked four times before his lips parted and he ultimately said, “What?”
I forced myself to stay calm, to not regret having said that one little word. He wanted me to flirt back, didn’t he? And I only said it to play along with his little game—not because I was seriously entertaining the idea of him as a beau.
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 4