by Jenni James
Lord Atten Meets His Match
by Jenni James
Cover design copyright © 2018 by Jenni James
This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright© 2018 by Jenni James
Lord Atten Meets His Match
Jenni James
This book is dedicated to—
Suzy Petersen. The girl with a thousand laughs.
CHAPTER ONE:
Lord Everett Atten, fifth Earl of Cheswick, sauntered through the sea of twittering misses and their mamas. His broad-shouldered form, fitting snugly into his superfine coat, weaved in and around each set of whispering females toward the charming couple across the large ballroom. Lady Romney glowed under the attentive eye of her newly betrothed, Lord Hamson. The couple were to announce their wedding plans that night, and such an announcement could not have come soon enough for the both of them.
George was all flustered joy as Everett pumped his hand in congratulations and then kissed the cheek of his dear bride-to-be. “I wish you two an enormous amount of happiness, and a skaggle of children just as unruly and horrendous as George was,” Everett announced with a smirk.
Lady Romney burst into a fit of giggles as poor George’s jaw dropped. “You would not dare curse such a thing on my sweetheart. She deserves so much more than a multitude of—”
“Of monstrous brats. I know.”
She gasped. “No darling child of mine will be a monster, Lord Atten, so I suggest you take that smug look off your face.” Even she could not say it all without giggling again.
“Just so,” he responded, and then winked devilishly at George as he bowed low. Feeling as though he had done enough damage, he said his farewells and made way for another to offer their felicitations. As he turned and paused amongst the large throng, he hesitated on what to do next. There would be at least thirty more minutes of this monotony before the actual ball would begin. Thirty minutes to be reminded that he was utterly alone.
Everett let out a silent sigh as he glanced around the room, looking for any comrade who did not happen to have a lady attached to his arm. Unfortunately, he managed to catch the eye of more than one designing mama, who were even then eagerly whispering and making as if they would head in his direction with their daughters in tow.
That would never do. He spun upon his heel and made his way to the balconies, most likely the safest spot in all of the Hamson home. It was as he was making a quick beeline toward his escape that a lovely flash of white and blue whirled around and crashed right into his superfine coat, and rather destroyed his pristine waterfall.
He heard the clatter of glass shattering upon the floor moments before he felt the wet dripping from his face. Indeed, great splats of liquid fell from his nose, chin, and jaw, upsetting whatever was left of his cravat. He blinked a few times before his gaze focused upon a miss whose hand was covering her mouth as she barely contained the mirth inside.
She too was a sad mop of a mess. Her white gown with its blue sash seemed to be covered in the stuff from head to toe.
“Well!” he exclaimed.
Her bewitching eyes glimmered with hilarity. “I beg your pardon, Lord Atten,” she managed to voice. “I did not see you there.”
“Nor I you.”
The young miss removed her hand. “You are absolutely covered in lemonade.”
He looked down upon himself. “Is that what this is?” Then he stepped back and beheld the shattered glass and glanced up to see the astounded faces nearest. Including a rather aghast young man holding an empty tray. However, he seemed to have missed the brunt of the calamity. No one was as wet as Atten.
“I should not have spun around as I did and bumped into the servant carrying all those glasses.” Her lips twitched. “I am ever so sorry.”
“Agatha!” gasped an outraged matron. “Look what you have done to Lord Atten. And your new gown as well. What a state you are in.” The woman bustled around her and swatted her handkerchief at the young miss’s sleeves and the skirts of the gown.
The girl looked nervously around. “Mama, let me retire to another room and repair myself.”
“Yes, you must.” The older woman, one he could not place, looked up at him with a grin. “And poor Lord Atten must attend us as well.”
Several onlookers gasped and began to twitter in eagerness.
One fine eyebrow rose. Was this mischief planned all along? He stepped back as another servant came rushing toward them with a broom. With a tug of both wet sleeves, he announced, “I am quite capable of finding my own way to another room for repairs, but thank you for your concern.”
The woman shook her head. “Nay, I insist you accompany us. My daughter has made a mess of this, and it is the least thing we could do to beg forgiveness for the gossip we are no doubt causing.”
This smattering of gossip would be nothing if he went along with the mama and her daughter and closeted himself in a room where who knows what silliness she had prepared for them. There was nothing more terrifying than a matchmaking mama who knew her prize. For the second time that evening, Everett bowed low and then turned to walk away.
It was as he turned, however, that his gaze connected with a delightful being in sprigged muslin and a yellow underskirt. It was not the gown that caught his attention most—it was the twinkle in that particular young miss’s eye. She seemed to understand perfectly the predicament he was in and found it vastly amusing.
He nodded to the minx and gave a rueful grin. Neither had been properly introduced, and he was already collecting more interest than could do either of them any good.
She curtsied, her mischief-filled eyes glancing behind him.
“But you must come with us. I feel dreadful to have you out of sorts, my lord.” The mama would not leave him alone for one moment.
“Thank you, no,” Everett said. “Now please excuse me.”
“He has promised the first set to me,” the girl in the sprigged muslin spoke up. “Though, I am not certain I wish to be near him with the state he’s in.”
She was attempting to save him! He put one soaking arm out toward her. “Come. I was on my way to find you. Let me explain the situation to Lord Hamson, and we shall rectify your lack of partner immediately.”
“Sounds a grand idea.” She gingerly touched one gloved hand to his dripping coat sleeve and gathered the skirts of her gown before following his lead as he maneuvered her away from the horror he was in.
“I fear I must thank you,” he whispered as they approached their hosts.
“Nonsense!” Her lilting voice was charming. “I rather enjoy saving damsels in distress.”
Everett halted and turned toward her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Please do not.” She grinned. “Your expressions this evening have given me enough humor to last this next week at the least. I really do not need your pardon, nor your censure.”
“A damsel in distress? Did you truly call me a damsel?”
She gave him the most matter-of-fact look he had ever seen in his life. “Why, of course. I know of no lord who would have reacted as such. Therefore, you must be a damsel in distress.”
“And what, pray tell, is the difference between the two?” Never had he felt so amused or
so affronted at the same time.
“Well, if you do not know the difference naturally, there is no need to share it with you.” She grinned serenely and then gave a short curtsy as they approached Lord Hamson and Lady Romney.
“George!” Everett said as he brought the girl forward. “I am in the worst pickle.”
“What happened to your cravat?”
“That is precisely what I have to explain. I have had a rather unfortunate accident with another young lady and her matchmaking mama, and I am coming to beg you for a change of clothes. I fear if I cannot get them from you, I will have to leave your ball directly and forgo the pleasure of dancing with my lady in shining armor.”
“Your what?” George’s jaw dropped.
“’Tis true.” The lady chortled. “I had to come to his rescue. A rather forthright mama was attempting to ensnare him and closet him away with her daughter to create some sort of scandal, I am sure.”
George looked from the young lady to Everett and then back to the young lady again. “So you two have been properly introduced, then? I was hoping I would not have to do the honors—heaven knows what your fathers would think. Sorry, Atten. I forgot your father passed away last year.” He turned to the young miss. “Therefore, it is only Miss Waite’s father I need to contend with.”
Miss Waite? Herbert Waite’s daughter? How had the devil handed him such a trick? Everett felt as though a horse had kicked him in the stomach. “Pardon me.” He brought the girl’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I am grateful for your help, but I fear this is where I now leave you.” He looked right into her brown eyes. “I am the Earl of Cheswick.”
Those eyes grew wide, and she let out a small gasp. “You?”
CHAPTER TWO:
George followed Everett out of the ballroom. “What? Surely you are not leaving!” His friend looked aghast. “Come, my man will attend you and repair the damage instantly.”
“You know I cannot stay here,” Everett whispered. “I had no notion she was Herbert Waite’s daughter! The old coot will skin me alive should I look at her, let alone offer her a dance.”
“So you were not introduced?” George paused.
Everett glanced back toward the ballroom door and then whispered, “Good heavens! The chit was merely saving me from my own folly. A complete stranger swooping in like an angel to my rescue.”
“This will not do.” George began to walk up the stairs, and Everett really had no choice but to follow. “It seems we are in a quandary. I had hopes some family member made the introductions.”
“How was Miss Waite even on the guest list?”
George shook his head as he rounded the landing and continued to climb. “Catherine’s late husband, Lord Romney, was extremely attached to the family. I believe they might even be related. It was she who put Miss Waite on the list, and I did not think one thing about it until Miss Waite came and curtsied before us earlier.”
“And you did not think to warn me?”
George lifted his hand in the air. “And risk causing a scene and upsetting Catherine’s magical night? Do you know how hard us men work to keep the peace and make sure not one feather is ruffled? Had I brought it up with her next to me, what would have happened?”
Everett came to the top of the stair. “She would have been miserable and worried.”
“Precisely.” Hamson stepped into his chambers and was met by his valet.
“Is everything well?” the man asked, his eyes wide.
“I have made a mess of sticky lemonade, Horace,” Everett answered.
“Well, do you not know it is best to dance with the ladies and not the punch?”
George snickered. “’Tis true. I attempted to tell him just that, but he chose the lemonade instead.”
“You are both wittier than I give you credit for.” Everett slipped off his coat.
George stared at him, perplexed. “You have ten times the figure of me. And you are taller, too. I did not think this through very well, did I?”
“Nor I, since I was the one who came up with the idea to begin with.” Everett sighed and pulled at his itchy shirt sleeves. “I merely wanted to change into whatever I could so I might get back to Miss Waite.”
The valet gasped.
“Well, I did not know she was Miss Waite until George told me. Sometimes I fear the world is best left in ignorance.”
Horace shook his head. “You cannot possibly court Herbert Waite’s daughter. He will have your—”
“Have my guts for garters. I know, I know. I have no plans to get myself murdered at the moment. Though, she was an intriguing minx.” He looked to them both. “Did you know she had the audacity to call me a damsel in distress?”
The valet laughed. “If you could but see yourself, my lord. Then perhaps you would understand why.”
George snorted. “’Tis true! If anyone needs saving right now, it is you, Atten!”
“Ha!” Everett pointed his finger at Horace. “You scapegrace—you should know I shall remember this day always. I got you this job, and I can just as soon take it away.”
“Hey, hey! What’s all this?” George chuckled. “Not on your life. Horace is a genius! And he’s my genius now. ‘Tis not my fault you were willing to cast him aside when you inherited your father’s ancient valet. I would never have had such a fine a man as Horace. So be gone with your threats.”
“You are both traitors for friends,” Everett grumbled. “Gads! I must get this hideous shirt off me before I shout the place down. ‘Tis deuced uncomfortable, all plastered to me as it is.”
“And then what will your plans be? It makes no sense to remove the garment until you are willing to wear mine, which will be scads too short for you. Most likely ‘tis best for you to head home and change and then stay there.”
“I would be wisest to stay there.” Everett sighed. “Though I had hopes to attend your ball and actually dance at the thing. Will you give my apologies to Lady Romney?”
George suddenly gave a burst of a chuckle. “Did Miss Waite really call you a damsel in distress?”
“Yes. Straight to my face.”
“You?” George shook his head. “I just cannot believe it. I may jest that you look like one, but this is not done. It is not done at all. The Earl of Cheswick!” George continued to laugh. Like a buffoon. “How I wish I could have been there to see that—Herbert Waite’s daughter calling you a damsel, and in distress, even!”
“You can chortle away. The brat had gumption, I will give her that.”
“More than gumption if she was purposely mocking you, Cheswick.”
“I can guarantee she had no idea who I was until I spoke my title. Her eyes were as round as saucers when she put my face to that name.” He grudgingly put his coat back on. “Quite aggravating. I rather liked the playfulness of it all. The gall of her. Made me exceptionally intrigued.”
George attempted to control his mirth. “Well, that is the luck of the draw sometimes.” He patted him on the shoulder. “The best part is, there are hundreds of young ladies out there all eager to see you wed.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of!”
CHAPTER THREE:
Miss Charity Waite glanced around the crushed room and then sighed for the umpteenth time that evening. The marriage mart was always the same. Twittering females in soft colors, and overly polite scoundrels smugly working their way through the crowds. She sat down next to her mother, Lady Waite, and flipped open her fan.
“Is your dance card full? Do you wish me to take you round the room once more to finish it up before the dancing begins?”
“It is full, Mama.” Charity untied the ribbon the little booklet was tied to and slipped the dance card under her chair. Truth be told, she’d managed to keep it completely bare this time. Perhaps she was in the midst of doldrums, or was hoping to experiment and see what it’d be like to be a wallflower. Or perhaps she was tired of the whole idea of flaunting oneself about.
She glanced over at her mother, w
ho was already deep in gossip with two Lady Hennington and Mrs.Crowpen, and stood up. “I am going to move about the room again.”
Her mother waved her away. “Enjoy yourself, my dear.”
Charity had to grin as she left. Four years ago, when she had her first season, all bright and shiny and sixteen, her mother refused to let her out of her sight. My goodness! The rules one had to obey their first season! It was terrifying. Now, four years later, her mother had become so lax, she was almost human. Maybe it was because she was twenty now, or perhaps her mother had found all the events as tedious as she did. Whatever the reason, Charity was extremely grateful to have a bit of freedom.
She gave one more glance toward her chattering mother and then began to move her way around the room. So many guests were here. So many people were happy for her Aunt Catherine and Lord Hamson. And she joyfully added her name to the list of those who wished them happy. She slipped within one of the room’s many alcoves, tucked herself against the cool marble wall, and took a deep breath.
This was madness—all of it was. There were too many people about at these events, too much of the same. And the tedious nature of it all wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Charity longed to fall in love, or feel some sort of spark—she wanted to connect with someone.
Ever since Miss Walpole wed her beau last season, everything around Charity had grown a bit dim. She felt ancient next to the debutantes who had come out this year, and she realized her chances of gaining a new friend to confide in and explore with were very limited.
There was a moment earlier that evening when she’d met Lord Atten that things seemed to be looking up. And now that she knew his name, she began to recollect instances when she’d seen him at the opera, or at Gunter’s, or even the bookstore. He had always been busy and not noticed her, but she had definitely seen him. He was not a man who was easily forgettable. With his handsome looks and mannerisms—it was why she came to his rescue earlier.