The Lady to Match a Rogue: Faith (The Baggington Sisters Book 4)

by Isabella Thorne

  Because Edgar’s sisters had arrived, Lady Torsford dressed for dinner. “I shan’t stay long,” she said. “I am still somewhat fatigued.” She threw a wan smile towards her husband who had taken their son from the nurse and was cooing at him in a most ridiculous way.

  “Of course, Caroline,” Miss Mary-Elizabeth, Edgar’s younger sister said. “We shall manage in your absence.” She turned a dazzling smile on Oscar, and he remembered what a little scamp she had been when they were children. She had followed her older brother everywhere until her mother had forbidden her, much to the boys delight. Now, she had grown into a beautiful woman.

  Oscar tried to make a moment of small talk, but his thoughts would not stay in the present. As Edgar presented his son, Oscar put his finger near the child, and the infant grasped it with a firm grip.

  “Strong little fellow, isn’t he?” Oscar commented. “It seems strange that he could be so strong when he is so very tiny.”

  “Indeed,” Edgar said holding the baby carefully. The child started to cry and with a crooked smile, Edgar said, “I should take him back to his nurse.”

  As if summoned by the words, the nurse appeared at the baron’s side to take the child and return to the nursery and the adults turned toward the dining room. Oscar looked after the child in amazement. He was glad that Edgar at last had a son and heir. That was precisely the topic of conversation his grandfather had harped on when he was in London. Grandfather wanted to see his grandson have an heir himself, but he did not even yet have a wife. The thought was becoming an invitation for Miss Baggington to enter his thoughts.

  It concerned him that she seemed a bit shy in public. Was it truly her nature or was it that she was disinclined to be seen with him? Of course, he still had much to do in the way of restoring his reputation, but he was not so far gone as to be as damaging to her person as she seemed to think. In London, his grandfather’s wealth and good family name far outweighed any small misdeeds his grandson could have perpetrated. Perhaps in time, as he was better received in Nettlefold, she might be willing to acknowledge him. He was, he reminded himself, to blame for the mar of his own previous behavior. Still, he could not help but be disappointed that such a lovely young lady would not give him the time of day. He had never met one more bright or intriguing, and to have her turn him away was unconscionable.

  He should speak to her brother ask to court her properly. No. Perhaps not yet. If he spoke to the man, and the lady said she had no fondness for him, his chance would be lost. Besides, he thought, the Baggington family had several unmarried daughters and he still did not know which he meant to ask permission court! He would have to convince the lady of his sincerity first, and to do that, he would have to see her again. His heart leapt at the thought. But when? When could he see her again?

  “Mr. Titherington, is the mincemeat not to your taste?” Mary-Elizabeth, leaned across the table to get a better look at his plate. He had hardly taken a bite but had managed, while lost in his musings, to chop his meal into a mess of small pieces. He shook the image of one remarkable brunette from his mind and focused instead on Mary-Elizabeth, who had her brother’s ruddy coloring. Mary-Elizabeth was pretty in her own way, but somehow she did not compare to Miss Baggington. Perhaps it was because he had known her since she was only a sprout, with carrot red hair and a ready smile. Now, her smiles held more than simple joy.

  “Perhaps you are more inclined to dessert?” Miss Mary-Elizabeth leaned forward with a coy grin so that Oscar had an unhindered view of her ample bosom. Her tone had been low enough to not have been heard by the others, but he understood the implication. The young girls around Nettlefold had always been flirtatious with the Oxford gents when they came to visit. Perhaps in the past Oscar might even have flirted in return.

  In fact, this was more the sort of forward behavior that he had come to expect from the ladies who knew him, but Miss Baggington had none of that brazenness. True, she had climbed him as though he were a tree and she a squirrel upon their first meeting. He smiled thinking of it. Still, she had seemed just as surprised by her action as he had been. It was no flirtation on her part; of that Oscar was certain. Mary-Elizabeth let a coy smile fill her face. Considering that her brother had recently been wed with a new heir, her own marriage would be at the forefront of her mind. Now that Oscar was soon to inherit a substantial estate and overseas investments, a lady such as Mary-Elizabeth would find him all the more appealing. But what had Miss Baggington thought of him? Not well, he mused.

  Miss Mary-Elizabeth took slow, deep breaths. Her motion was calculated to draw the focus of his eyes downward, and for a moment his eyes were drawn to her bosom. He took up his wide-lipped wine goblet and drank deeply until the cup was empty. If he were fortunate, she would have given up the game by the time that he reemerged. She did not. A small slippered foot ran up the inside of his calf. The movement was so abrupt and shocking that he coughed into his goblet and was forced to cover his mouth with a napkin until the choking ceased.

  “Are you alright, Mr. Titherington?” the baroness asked.

  “Not to worry, Lady Torsford,” he said with what air he could manage to pull together. “I have been too hasty with this delicious meal.”

  Caroline’s eyes went from his still full plate, to Oscar’s flushed face, and then across the table to where Mary-Elizabeth was sitting with innocent calm as she picked at her own food, her foot still half way to his knee. The baroness’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. It was clear that she was not overly pleased with the suspected tendencies of her new sister. Though, what was one to suspect from a lady raised in London with nothing but an ignorant mother who partook a bit too readily and a gouty uncle to keep her in line? She should be glad her brother’s wife deigned to take her in hand.

  A year ago, Oscar might have enjoyed the game. Now, it only annoyed him. To be fair, Mary-Elizabeth was a fine looking woman. It was clear that she was well aware of her own visual appeal. Oscar knew the look of a woman who was also used to getting whatever it was she wanted and it was clear that right now her sights were set upon him. He should perhaps speak to Edgar about his sister’s forward nature, and yet such a conversation soured his constitution. He was not one to be a snitch. Just a few months ago, he might never have thought to out her to her brother. No. A few months ago he would have returned her game. Still the chit was his friend’s sister. He would not see her ruined.

  When the conversation fell back into place, her exploratory foot returned. Oscar shifted his chair further backward and angled his limbs so as to be out of her reach. Rather than look perturbed, her features settled into a smug grin. She would not balk at the challenge.

  After dinner, Caroline retired and Mary-Elizabeth sought the pianoforte, or perhaps she sought Oscar. He spent the rest of the evening thwarting the young lady’s repeated attempts upon his person. When she sat at the pianoforte to play and sing, she professed that she was in dire need of Oscar’s presence beside her at the bench.

  “To turn the pages, of course,” she whispered with a breathy sigh.

  Oscar felt a shiver run down his spine, and not the pleasant type that occurred when he was in the presence of Miss Baggington. Mary-Elizabeth may be the sister of his friend, but she was crafty and there was no way to decline the request without causing insult. She sat at the center of the bench, leaving him very little room to perch beside her.

  Still, once he was seated, she shifted even further so that they were matched, knee to hip and all the way up to her shoulder.

  “This is cozy, is it not?” Miss Mary-Elizabeth asked once the others had moved to the far side of the room to set a table for cards. She smiled up at him with bright eyes, and fluttered her long lashes.

  He offered some noncommittal response while in the privacy of his own mind he wished nothing more than to be free of her. Something of his reluctance must have communicated itself to Mary-Elizabeth.

  “You know, you are not as fun as you had used to be,” she pouted. “You have
not offered me one compliment, even though I am quite a woman now.” Again, she shifted her shoulders so as to draw attention to her bosom. It was a new feature, he must admit, one that she had acquired since their last meeting. Still, a little flirtation with his friend’s sister was one thing; this quite another. He had never held any inclinations towards Mary-Elizabeth, and indeed, thought of her as a sister himself.

  “You play very well,” he offered in acquiescence.

  The fullness of her lower lip jutted out, a technique that she likely thought would soften him to her.

  “Perhaps, I ought to play something more vigorous,” she offered.

  “This is fine,” he replied as he turned the page for her to continue. “It is a soothing melody.” Oscar continued although he knew full well that she had not meant the song.

  Mary-Elizabeth pouted. Had her hands not been bound to the keys, Oscar was certain that she would have crossed her arms and stomped her perfect little foot. Still, she was smart enough to know that as long as she continued to play, he must continue at her side or be considered rude.

  “Oscar, darling,” She crooned. “You are giving me cause for worry. Do you not feel well? Edgar mentioned that you were different now. I was excited to witness the transformation, but you see, I had thought you might be more inclined to offer your attentions. Now you seem rather cold.”

  Oscar laughed at the thought. If Miss Mary-Elizabeth had taken his reformation to mean only that he was finally prepared to court a lady with sincerity, then she had missed the mark. He had no such intention, at least not at this very moment, let alone the youth that was Mary-Elizabeth Charleston. She hardly knew him, he thought. They knew each other from childhood of course, but had honestly barely spoken. A handful of meetings when he had been drunk and unruly which should have given her plenty of cause to avoid him. Instead, she seemed disappointed in the alterations that he had made to improve his character.

  Perhaps it was a game to her. Perhaps she only saw the appeal of his upcoming financial situation. Either way, Oscar found himself wishing that Miss Charleston would behave more like Miss Baggington, who seemed to have little practical knowledge of the art of flirtation; yet that is what gave her appeal. He realized that Miss Baggington’s actions were genuine, not practiced responses.

  “Miss Charleston,” he began seriously but was cut short.

  “Do not be cruel, Oscar,” she pleaded with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Mother kept us away because she knew of my growing affection for you. She was afraid that you might be a bad influence upon my reputation. Sometimes I wish that you had been.” She spoke with a wistful longing as if there were something to be missed with the passing of his rakish ways.

  Oscar could not understand. While he had not cared a lick what others had thought of him, he had understood that he had not been a model to be accepted in polite company except he had money and position which had often overcome the obstacle of his behavior. He knew that too many ladies thought they would be the one to reform him, but in fact, it had been his father’s death and his grandfather’s illness that had turned him from his wild ways.

  “Now that you are reformed, Mother is certain to approve.”

  When Oscar did not comment, she sulked for a moment. “Do I have nothing to do with your return?”

  “You know you have not,” he said with a low groan. The lady and her trembling lip seemed on the verge of causing a scene. He pierced her with a reprimanding glare and she straightened up, her hurt nothing more than a skilled act.

  “Who is she then?” Miss Mary-Elizabeth asked with a huff.

  “Who?” Oscar asked with legitimate confusion.

  “The lady for whom you have changed,” she pressed. “Of course, I should have realized from the outset. A gentleman only alters his behavior for the heart of a lady.”

  “Then you would be wrong,” he replied and turned the page yet again. “On the behest of my grandfather in his illness, and no other,” he said.

  “Is he very ill?” she asked, and almost seemed concerned.

  “He is elderly,” Oscar said, “and with my father gone, he wishes me to help him more about the estate.”

  “Oh the estate,” she said. She seemed smug about his clarification, but it was nothing more than the truth. He almost wished that he had lied and said that there was some lady awaiting his heart just to steer away the persistent young miss. The image of a dark, energetic, wide-eyed beauty came to mind and for a second his thoughts drifted away. He wondered, would he have changed so completely if he had met Miss Baggington years before?

  He could not say with any certainty that he would have. In fact, with a disappointed pang to his gut, he realized that he would likely have overlooked her entirely, but now, she filled his thoughts. His grandfather would be happy to see him married. Sweet heaven! Was he truly thinking of marriage? He must have lost his mind.

  “I am duty bound to help my grandfather,” he said bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.

  “Then I am glad to hear of it,” Mary-Elizabeth continued. The set of her shoulders revealed that she found herself up to the challenge. Oscar withheld a groan so as not to be rude. He would need to be very clear in the future that he had no inclinations whatsoever toward the baron’s sister, despite her sudden burst into physical maturity. He should speak to Edgar about her forward manner so that her brother could curb her. Oscar could not quite bring himself to do so. He did not wish to disrupt the family when he was trying to win back their good graces.

  The remainder of the evening was spent avoiding Mary-Elizabeth’s unwanted attentions. It was only when he engaged Edgar’s mother Eleanor, the Dowager Baroness Torsford, in conversation that her daughter was stymied. He had always liked the Dowager, and no more than at the present moment. She sipped a glass of sherry. She was a great gossip even though her mind tended to wander, and the sherry did nothing to help that. In any case, he stuck to the older lady’s side. After a while, he warmed to her conversation. She was lonely, he realized, much like his own grandfather.

  He might as well make use of her sharp tongue. He decided to find out more about Miss Baggington and her family.

  “What do you know of the family up the lane from Middle-nett cottage?” He asked. “I never do see them,” he said without a hint at the lie.

  “The Baggage,” Lady Eleanor scoffed. “A shame for they had once been a very prominent family in these parts. That all fell away when the late Viscount took the seat for he refused to allow his children: nine in all, God bless their mother, any social connections. He passed not many years ago, and I am sure that the children are better for it. He was a strange bird. His children too, I imagine. Strange, you know. Forward one moment, and reclusive the next. They keep to themselves, but I have always felt they knew more than they ought.”

  “About what?” Oscar asked. He was surprised to hear such harsh words against the family, even from the lips of the Dowager.

  The lady shook her head as if she was not sure of the gist of the conversation. She took a slow sip of her sherry.

  “The Baggingtons,” Oscar redirected.

  “Oh yes. Their eldest daughter was a rare beauty,” the Dowager put down her glass and fluttered her hand as if shoeing a fly away. “She went for the convent. A waste of her promise. Never understood her father allowing it, though perhaps he did not, and there’s the gossip.”

  “Miss Temperance returned not long after her father’s passing,” Caroline cut in with a sad shake of her head. “Likely to pay her respects. She had never taken her vows. In fact, I heard tell that, she married the son of a viscount only this past summer. The other daughter, Prudence, lost her husband, earlier this past year: the Earl of Fondleton. She lived for a while near Halthaven after his passing, I hear tell. No doubt she took comfort in the Abbey there as did her sister. Perhaps she is still there.”

  Mary-Elizabeth shook her head. “I doubt she will soon find a new match. Prudence was not fair of face. A bit on the pl
ump side, she was, and rather loud and uncouth. What a shame that there are no beauties for you to partake, Oscar,” Mary-Elizabeth said with a droll sarcasm.

  “That is not quite true,” Edgar revealed. “I have been in contact with the new Viscount Mortel as he has attempted to renew contacts in the neighborhood. The widow Fondleton is to marry the Baron Halthaven at the end of her mourning. Though the two eldest ladies have made their matches, there do still remain three sisters unwed. There has been talk around town that they have finally begun to make their appearances.”

  “The next Miss Baggington, though not so fine as her sister,” the Dowager said, “is still a beauty in her own right.”

  “Yes,” Edgar agreed. “She is the rarest to be seen, but I have often heard the gentlemen at Nettlefold Arms speak of her poise and gentle demeanor. The youngest daughters will certainly catch your interest if you ever chance to encounter them, Oscar. They are quite the pair; a bit more outgoing than the others, probably because they are younger and were spared their father’s gruff manner. Caroline had them over for tea to ease their way back into society. They shall certainly have no trouble drawing suitors out for I can name at least half a dozen young men that would leap to their aid if they but asked.”

  “Surely not,” Mary-Elizabeth blurted. “They are as strange as the rest. Worse. Besides the pair of them will never get a chance to marry for the next in line might as well be considered a spinster and a recluse at that,” Mary-Elizabeth scoffed. “All terrible bores, such as could never keep pace with a man like our bright Mr. Titherington.” She settled as close to Oscar as possible.