Yes. But she bores me silly. She’s pretty enough and rich enough but I’m sure she doesn’t know how to catch a frog. I doubt she wiggles her toes as she reads, if she reads at all.
“Lord Kilmaire?”
“My apologies, Lady Helen. I was thinking how your hair shines like gold in the candlelight. I fear it struck me speechless for a moment.” I can be charming, he mused, watching the way Lady Helen preened at his compliment.
“You flatter me, Lord Kilmaire.”
Her eyes slid to her mother, confirming that Lady Cottingham’s head was still turned away before boldly touching his forearm with the tip of her fan. “I look forward to our bird watching, Lord Kilmaire.”
“As do I,” he returned.
Oh yes, I shall count the minutes until we search for the ruby throated thrush.
Lady Cottingham was still turned towards the front of the room. Her mouth opened slightly as one hand flew up to pat her coiffure. A languid sigh escaped her lips. She had totally forgotten her daughter and Colin.
Colin drained his wine in disgust.
Lady Cottingham’s behavior could only be attributed to one thing, or rather, one person. No woman seemed immune. Once Colin saw an elderly duchess fan herself furiously at being exposed to such potent allure. The woman had to have been at least eighty.
How in the world did Alex tolerate such nonsense?
Lady Cottingham gave another heartfelt sigh as if she’d just been awarded her heart’s desire and pressed her fan against the top of her chest. She was struck dumb with rapture as the Marquess of Cambourne walked further into the drawing room.
Cam strode forward, the ridiculous green baby hanging from his ear, greeting his guests with a wide smile. Alex, his marchioness dangled from one arm, the indomitable Dowager Marchioness, his grandmother, on the other.
The Dowager was resplendent this evening in a gown of dove gray satin, a small diamond tiara set amongst the silver curls of her hair. Diamonds dripped from her ears and throat, sparkling in the light.
The thump of her cane echoed in the room as she made her way forward, surveying her guests with a shrewd glance of her emerald eyes.
Alex wore a swath of shimmering blue silk, her mass of dark, curling hair twisted into an elaborate hairstyle, no doubt designed to keep her willful locks constrained. Sapphire earrings dangled from her ears, her only adornment except for a locket she wore around her neck. Alex bestowed a welcoming smile on Lady Cottingham, despite the adoration with which the woman’s eyes followed the Marquess of Cambourne.
Cam seemed oblivious to the effect his appearance had on the fairer sex.
Colin knew he was not.
As he watched, Alex’s gloved hand discreetly pinched her husband’s forearm and whispered something for his ears alone.
Cam brought the Dowager to a large chair set in the center of the room. The position of the chair, covered in crimson velvet, as well as the chair’s size, gave one the impression of a throne.
No doubt that was the Dowager’s intent.
Gingerly, the Dowager lowered herself to sit, bejeweled fingers clutching the head of her cane. She nodded to Cam in thanks before settling herself.
Lady Cambourne left her husband’s side to greet Lord Hamill.
The aging lord’s hooded eyes roamed over Alex’s voluptuous form, settling for a moment across the tops of her breasts, before he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Old lecher.
Upon meeting Lord Hamill, Colin formed a very firm opinion. An elderly rake. One who still thought himself attractive to women, despite the fact his looks had long since faded. His watery eyes flickered over every woman in an assessing manner, focusing on their breasts and lips, a sure sign of his true nature. The man was reputed to be widely respected in Parliament and possessed a keen political acumen, regardless of his roguish behavior.
Miranda couldn’t seriously be considering Lord Hamill as a husband. He was nearly as old as the Dowager.
“Good evening.” The Marquess of Cambourne approached and slid next to Colin, nodding to Lady Cottingham.
Lady Cottingham took her daughter’s arm, pulling Lady Helen down with her as she executed a small curtsy.
Cam bestowed an indulgent smile upon the two ladies.
Lady Helen struggled discreetly to loosen her mother's grip.
“Lady Cottingham, Lady Helen.” Cam politely took Lady Cottingham’s hand and gently pulled her up while simultaneously bowing over her hand. “How radiant you both look tonight. I trust you are finding Gray Covington comfortable?”
Lady Cottingham appeared as if she would faint from sheer delight. “My lord,” she twittered, “we are so pleased at your invitation. I am in utter awe of the beauty of this room.”
Good Lord, she’s giggling like a schoolgirl.
Where on earth was Lord Cottingham? The man should bear witness to the way his wife was making an ass out of herself over the Marquess of Cambourne.
“My husband begs your pardon, Lord Cambourne. He is unable to join us for dinner this evening.” Lady Cottingham batted her lashes.
The effect was less than alluring.
“I hope he’s not ill.” Cam inquired. “There is an excellent physician nearby, Dr. Merwick. I can have him sent for.”
Lady Cottingham giggled again. “How generous of you, Lord Cambourne, but please do not trouble yourself. My husband sometimes becomes ill if he spends too long in a carriage. I assure you he will be right as rain tomorrow and looks forward to your tour of the estate.”
“As do I. I hope you and your daughter will permit me the honor of escorting you both into dinner? I am a poor substitute for Lord Cottingham, I know.”
A small snort sounded from Colin. He couldn’t help it. Lady Cottingham would cheerfully push her husband off a cliff if the end result was dangling on the arm of the Marquess of Cambourne.
Cam shot him a disapproving look.
Lady Cottingham beamed with pleasure and even Lady Helen’s eyes widened at Cam’s words. “Of course, my lord. We would be honored.” She had the decency to look askance at Colin.
Colin gave a polite nod of his head. At least he’d be spared taking the ladies Cottingham into dinner.
“And may I say, Lord Cambourne, that I look forward to walking in the Gray Covington gardens? I’ve long heard of their beauty, especially the midnight roses. I had the pleasure of seeing vases of the blooms once, at a ball your mother hosted in London just before her marriage to Mr. Herbert Reynolds. Mr. Reynolds is an acquaintance of Lord Cottingham,” she added.
“My stepmother.” Ice dripped from the words.
The color left Lady Cottingham’s face and her lips trembled at the rebuke.
Poor woman, she’s stepped in it now. Cam detests having people assume that bitch is his mother.
Alex silently appeared at her husband’s side, threading her arm through his. Her fingertips pressed lightly against his forearm in a calming gesture.
“We do not grow midnight roses any longer, Lady Cottingham,” Alex said in a matter of fact tone. “Alas, the plants fell victim to a horrible infestation of aphids. Really very tragic.”
“Aphids?” Lady Cottingham blinked rapidly, and two spots of color appeared on her powered cheeks.
“Birds eat aphids,” Lady Helen twittered to no one in particular.
“Yes,” Alex continued. “Unfortunately, the plants had to be destroyed. Each and every bush had to be ripped,” her eyes narrowed rather viciously, “from the ground.”
“But, surely,” Lady Cottingham who doubtless knew quite a bit about gardening in addition to dairy farming said, “some cuttings could be saved? A root ball, perhaps?”
“Sadly, no.” Alex shook her head which allowed a curl to loosen from her coiffure and bounce against her brow. “The aphids were particular to the midnight rose. Our head gardener had never seen anything like it and was quite mystified, wasn’t he my lord?”
A small smile lifted the corner of Cam’s mouth, his wif
e having dispelled his black mood. “Yes, mystified.”
“We’ve replanted the gardens with a much more sturdy species of rose, one that can withstand an aphid attack. I’m sure you’ll find them equally as lovely.”
Colin knew that the midnight roses were created especially for Lady Jeanette Cambourne. At her command. The petals of the flowers were meant to serve as a foil for her own pale beauty. Dozens of gardeners were sacked until one lucky man produced exactly the right shade. Lady Cambourne had permitted only midnight roses to be planted in the gardens of Gray Covington and Cambourne House. When her ladyship hosted a ball or other large gathering, she insisted that large vases of the roses fill each room, so much so that the flower vendors of London competed for cuttings of the bushes in order to grow enough to meet her demands.
The midnight rose bushes had been destroyed at Cam’s insistence once his stepmother was finally gone from London.
Alex bestowed a warm smile on the slightly bewildered Lady Cottingham who was too new to society to know of the former Lady Cambourne’s venomous personality.
“I do hope, Lady Cottingham, that the chambers I selected for you and your family meet with your approval?” Turning slightly, she addressed Lady Helen. “I picked yours, Lady Helen, especially because of your fondness for birds. Your room overlooks a particularly large maple tree. A pair of robins have taken up residence in the tree and formed a nest full of lovely blue eggs. I believe they are nearly ready to hatch. I thought perhaps you would enjoy watching them during your stay.”
Lady Helen’s lips curled in a tolerant smile. “Robins are really rather common, Lady Cambourne. Why—”
“Thank you.” Lady Cottingham took hold of her daughter’s hand, squeezing tightly in an effort to keep her daughter from offending their hosts. “You are most considerate, Lady Cambourne. I’m sure my daughter will enjoy the view very much. May I also say again, how pleased we are to visit Gray Covington.”
“My husband’s grandmother would like to renew your acquaintance.” Alex tilted her head to the seat where the Dowager now held court. “She has sent me over to collect you.”
Lady Cottingham swallowed nervously. “Of course. I must thank Lady Cambourne for her kind invitation.”
Two men stood on either side of The Dowager paying their respects. Colin recognized the large form of Lord Anthony Welles immediately, for he’d known him at Eton. The other gentleman Colin assumed to be Carstairs. The dolt.
“Please,” Alex gestured for Lady Cottingham to precede her, and took the woman’s arm when she didn’t budge. “I would also take the opportunity to introduce you to Lord Anthony Welles and Lord Thomas Carstairs. You may be acquainted with Lord Carstairs’s younger sister, Lady Gwendolyn? She’s just made her debut.”
“I’ve met Lady Gwendolyn.” Lady Helen replied before her mother could answer. “I find her—”
“Delightful.” Lady Cottingham shot her daughter a firm look.
Alex guided Lady Cottingham and Lady Helen in the direction of the Dowager who sat watching their approach with an assessing gleam in her eye.
Colin leaned towards Cam. “I must remember to thank Alex for her timely rescue from Lady Helen and her mother. I was about to be treated to a very impassioned speech on the ruby throated thrush. Whatever the bloody hell that is.”
A servant paused before Cam holding a silver tray holding two glasses of wine.
Taking one of the stemmed glasses, Colin took a sip and frowned. “You really should serve whiskey if I’m going to be forced to make conversation on birds.”
“She’s wealthy. Horribly so. Despite her eccentric hobby.”
“Obsession.” Colin corrected him.
Cam shrugged. “I’ve no wish for you to be condemned to a life of obsessive birdwatching. You have other options.”
“Borrowing so heavily from my friends is not one of them,” Colin reminded him.
Cam sighed in resignation and lifted his chin towards the group surrounding the Dowager.
“You remember Welles, don’t you?”
“I do. I understand that he now uses his aptitude with numbers and business acumen on Elysium.”
Cam lifted his glass. “Well, he had to make a living somehow didn’t he, after refusing to marry the girl his father chose for him. Now the Duke of Baunton, surrounded by his five daughters, still waits for his heir to marry.”
“The son of a duke,” Colin mused, “running a club that caters to the most decadent tastes of the ton. I’m told there are private rooms where one can indulge and explore any pleasure one wishes.”
“Welles is a silent partner. It is his half-brother who manages Elysium.”
“And Carstairs? I have difficulty believing he and Welles are friends. I’m told my horse possesses more personality than Carstairs.”
“No, definitely not friends. I believe there is property that Welles wishes to purchase from Carstairs and wanted to view it himself rather than send his solicitor. Grandmother invited them to stay for the house party since they meant to stop for the night anyway.”
“Perhaps your grandmother,” Colin bit out, hating the jealous note in his tone, “means for Welles or Carstairs to be potential suitors for Miranda.”
Laughter burst from Cam’s lips. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. “Lord Hamill and Ridley are bad enough without adding Carstairs to the mix.”
Colin ignored the fact that Cam made no mention of Welles.
Behind the chair in which the Dowager sat, a gentleman entered the room, pausing at the doorway as if waiting to be noticed, frowning slightly when he seemed to garner no attention as he made his way forward.
Beside him, Cam tensed, eyes narrowed with dislike. “I was so hoping he wouldn’t be able to find his way down here until we’d already begun the soup course. The frontrunner for my sister’s hand. Lord Edwin Ridley.”
Colin’s hackles rose immediately as he took in the viscount.
Lord Ridley was tall and slender, his dark evening clothes perfectly tailored to fit his lean form. The only distraction was his waistcoat. The garment was a mélange of colors, a crazy patchwork of blue and green shot through with gold thread. A mop of carefully teased curls hung about his face.
Christ, I can smell his pomade even from this distance.
“Just seeing Ridley makes me reconsider my earlier assessment of Carstairs. Perhaps Carstairs is only pretending to have the intelligence of a potted plant. He’s hiding his brilliance for some reason and will reveal himself at an opportune moment.”
“A bit colorful, isn’t he?” What an utter fop Ridley was. How could Miranda consider such a man? The wine soured in his mouth just watching Ridley prance across the room.
“Carstairs a dandy?” Cam’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, you mean Ridley. Yes. I’m told he spends more on his clothing than a girl in her first Season. I was hopeful that Ridley would lose interest in my sister, but he seems to have renewed his suit in the last few months. I still have hope that Miranda will come to her senses. I almost prefer Hamill.” A pained look crossed Cam’s face. “Actually, I’d rather she remain a spinster than make a foolish choice.”
Colin agreed. He didn’t care for either of Miranda’s suitors. She couldn’t possibly be serious. Again, he wished to ask about the incident, but now wasn’t the best time.
“Perhaps my sister will listen to you?”
Colin choked on his wine. “Sorry,” he covered his shock at his friend’s suggestion, “you know I don’t care for wine. Why,” he passed his glass to a waiting servant, “would you think Miranda would listen to me?” Cam really didn’t know, as impossible as that seemed.
“She may listen to you. Her ‘prince’ from childhood.”
The casual remark caused his heart to contract.
“I’ll speak to her if you wish.” Colin ceded. “But, Cam. You need to tell me what happened. To Miranda.”
Cam turned away, either not hearing Colin or choosing to ignore the question. “Ah, th
ere’s Miss Lainscott and her aunt, the esteemed Lady Dobson.” He couldn’t keep the distaste from his words. “Alex speaks very highly of Miss Lainscott.”
Lady Agnes Dobson, so spare of form with sharp angles that one was reminded of a praying mantis, strode forward towing behind her a slight young woman. Miss Margaret Lainscott was unremarkable in every way, from the color of her hair to the pale blush of her gown. Ordinary, except for the directness of her gaze and the sheen of intelligence in her eyes.
Lady Dobson tugged her niece forward, looking as if she would toss the poor girl at Colin.
Miss Lainscott’s eyes flashed with rebellion and irritation before she lowered them demurely.
Colin liked her immediately.
“Lord Cambourne, Lord Kilmaire.” Lady Dobson and Miss Lainscott dipped in unison.
“Lady Dobson.” Cam did not bother to take Lady Dobson’s hand, ignoring it in favor of Miss Lainscott’s. “May I present my friend, the Earl of Kilmaire.”
The snub was not lost on Lady Dobson. The large ostrich feather atop her turban quivered a bit, though her voice showed no hint of nervousness at being in the presence of the Marquess of Cambourne. Determination gleamed from her pale eyes as she turned to Colin.
“Lord Kilmaire.” Lady Dobson extended a boney, gloved hand, the stark white of her gloves giving the impression it was a skeleton’s hand he bent over.
Thin to the point of emaciation, Lady Dobson’s elegant silk gown hung from her meager figure, as there seemed no flesh to cling to. Everything about the woman was sharp and cutting, from the way she walked to the unseemly way she was moving Miss Lainscott closer to Colin’s side. Her beady eyes took in Colin, lingering over the scar on his face before dazzling him with a false smile meant to hide her disgust at his disfigurement. After all, an earl, even one as flawed as Colin, would be more than suitable for her niece, a niece that she was quite desperate to get rid of.
The lady would make an excellent villain in a Lord Thurston novel.
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 15