A Proper Romance
A Lady’s Favor
Josi S. Kilpack
© 2016 Josi S. Kilpack.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book cover design © Shadow Mountain, 2016
Cover Images: DarkBird/shutterstock.com, Ollyy/shutterstock.com, Naffarts/shutterstock.com
Art direction: Richard Erickson
Design: Heather G. Ward
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
ONE
Bianca Davidson glanced over her shoulder and, assured that none of the evening’s guests were watching her for the moment, slipped out the side door of the drawing room—the door the servants typically used. She moved down the narrow hall, through another door, up the servant’s stairway, and into the linen cupboard on the second floor. She’d have gone to her bedchamber, but it was the first place Mama would look when she realized Bianca was missing—a fact Mama would realize in about fourteen seconds.
The cupboard was blessedly dark and private, but unfortunately cramped. She’d often found solace here, or in the hayloft, when she was a young girl. Only the stakes had not been so high when she’d needed escape back then, and she had fit in the cupboard more comfortably than she did now. With her back pressed against the shelves, her nose nearly touched the inside of the door. But the discomfort she felt wasn’t half what she’d felt in the drawing room.
“He is the most insufferable fool I have ever met,” she said to the sheets and throw blankets crammed into the shelves behind her. How long could she reasonably hide here? Ten minutes? An hour? A month? Perhaps she should have chosen the hayloft.
He—Lord Strapshire—had been welcomed by the entire village the instant he had appeared in the doorway of the Braithwaite’s ball a month earlier. As cousin to the family, had come as a guest to the engagement ball of Miss Constance Braithwaite, but few people noticed the bride-to-be once Lord Strapshire arrived.
He drew every eye in the room. He was far more fashionable than the other young men in northern England and breathtakingly handsome with wavy, golden hair combed into a perfect Brutus, rich green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the candlelight, and a dimple in his chin that made women’s knees go weak.
Bianca had been as entranced by him as everyone else. The way he walked with the easy grace of aristocracy, and the low timbre of his voice further seduced her to the point that when he asked her to dance, she had stumbled over her reply.
In addition to the physical impression Lord Strapshire made, he danced beautifully, had the softest hands, and the glowing compliments he paid her made her feel as though she were the only woman in the room. She was not used to such attention and had gone home on a cloud.
When he’d called on her the very next day, why, she felt that the sun, moon, and stars had aligned for her benefit alone. Mama thought the same and could not stop talking about his attention.
“He might be the one,” Mama had said after that first visit. She peered through the drawing room curtains to watch his fine barouche drive away, then turned a brilliant smile to her only daughter. “He might be the very destiny I have prayed for you!”
That Lord Strapshire hadn’t talked of anything but his horse and his dogs and his estate and his recent trip to London hadn’t seemed out of place during that first morning visit. When he came for dinner a few days later, however, he again talked—nearly boasted—only of himself. And the next visit. And the next.
For two full weeks, Bianca attempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was uncomfortable in this new place, and it made him ramble. However, she also noticed that his compliments toward her remained superficial—comments about her hair and dress and figure—and that he would often cut her off when she began to tell something of herself or share something that interested her. A week ago she had stared at the ceiling of her room late at night and admitted to herself that she did not like his company nearly as much as she had in the beginning.
After that she had assessed his behavior with a more objective eye and found him to be an absolute boor and a bore. When he did talk about other people, it was with a sense of superiority. His usual tone for the servants was snappish, and Bianca had sought out one upstairs maid who left his company with a quivering chin after he called her an idiot for bringing him the wrong coat after dinner. After tea last Friday, she caught him wiping his nose with the sleeve of his coat. He spit into the bushes when she walked him to the stable to fetch his horse, a pure white stallion named Orion’s Triumph. He’d seemed to expect her to accept his poor manners without objection. She did not object out loud, but neither did she accept his behavior simply because he was handsome.
When they’d gone for a walk through her mother’s prized rose garden, he had absently plucked the petals from nearly a dozen blossoms before she begged him to stop ruining the flowers. He defended himself with the explanation that the deep red petals perfectly matched the red stitching of his waistcoat, and he liked the idea of walking back over a trail of petals upon their return. She told him it was wasteful to destroy the blooms for such a thing.
“Oh, but I asked the roses if they minded, and they assured me that they could think of no higher distinction than to serve as a backdrop for my fine coat. It is from Weston, you know.” He went on to tell her, again, how he managed to secure an appointment with the heralded tailor in London, who then proclaimed him a paragon of the male physique.
Bianca grit her teeth and made the decision right then to lose his favor. She could not spend her life with a man who saw nothing but his own reflection, who cared nothing for other people, and who showed a complete lack of interest in her thoughts. Such a life would be purgatory, and she could not sentence herself to such a fate.
Only it was not so easy to throw him over as she had thought it would be.
Bianca had been completely silent through two dinner parties, and he did not notice in the least. In fact, he seemed to prefer it. When they were partnered at cards, she purposely lost, but he simply made sport of her failings and reminded her that cards were a rather intellectual form of entertainment and so she should not feel too badly—he would partner with a man next time. She bowed out of a ride in his barouche, but he came back the next day and Mama made her accept his invitation. Surely any reasonable man would see that she was not enjoying his company when she did not offer more than one-word answers, but Lord Strapshire was not a reasonable man and had commented upon returning her home how grateful he was that she had not prattled on during their ride. A silent woman was good company indeed.
Oh, how Bianca had wanted to slap him!
What else can I do? she asked herself alone in the cupboard. She did not want to be outright rude—Mama would have something to say about that—but she was running out of alternatives.
Tonight, Lord Strapshire had arrived half an hour early for the party and dominated her company with talk only of himself—aside from a comment that the color green did not become her and she should avoid it in the future.
Her irritation had grown by the minute until, when Mr. Dawson asked about Lord Strapshire’s barou
che—which Bianca had heard about ad nauseam—she slipped away, determined to find a solution to this increasingly annoying problem since the evening thus far had proven beyond a doubt that she must be rid of him. The sooner the better. She could not take much more of this.
Now that she was alone, she could think of how to fix this.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Suddenly the cupboard door flew open, and Bianca froze at the sight of the scowl on her mother’s face.
“What on earth are you doing here, Bianca?” Mama said, reaching in and taking Bianca by the forearm. “Lord Strapshire is looking for you.”
“Oh, Mama, please don’t make me go back. I must have a few minutes to myself.”
Mama pulled on her arm, causing Bianca to stumble from what she thought would be her haven.
“Which you have had.” Mama did not loosen her grip, nor pause for conversation. Instead, she pulled Bianca toward the stairs as though Bianca were a five-year-old rather than a fully-grown woman of nineteen years. Mama continued. “It is time to return to our guests.”
“You mean guest,” Bianca said. It was past time to share her thoughts with her mother, who had been aflutter from Lord Strapshire’s attention since the start. “I’ve done nothing but sit with Lord Strapshire and listen to Lord Strapshire and play cards with Lord Strapshire and dance around the room with Lord Strapshire all evening. I am suffocating beneath his attention.”
There wasn’t even supposed to be dancing tonight, but Lord Strapshire had sweet-talked Mrs. Gibson into a playing the pianoforte so that he might show everyone the latest dances from London. His display had looked exactly like every other dance Bianca had ever seen, but the audience oohed and aahed as though he invented every step. How did no one see him for the arrogant fool he was?
“Don’t be a ninny,” Mama said, not slowing her steps. “You are lucky to have his attention, and you will be a gracious hostess.”
“Mama,” Bianca said, pulling back hard enough to break her mother’s grip on her arm. “I do not want Lord Strapshire’s attention.”
“Don’t be silly. He is handsome and wealthy and well connected.” She reached for Bianca’s arm again, but Bianca stepped out of reach.
“And arrogant and self-centered and tedious.”
Mama’s expression turned to irritation. “All men are arrogant and self-centered and tedious.”
“Mama!” Bianca said in alarm, thinking of her father, who died when she was five years old. Her own memories of the man were vague—he was not much for doting on his children—but one should not be disrespectful of the dead. And though Mama never spoke of him with much affection, he had left his family with a generous living.
Mama took a reaching step toward Bianca and took her arm again, this time holding it like a vise. “I will not let you ruin this chance.”
Bianca had no choice but to stumble after her mother. They reached the stairs, and Mama marched them down, forcing Bianca to pay close attention to each step so that they did not tumble. “Mama, I do not like him.”
“Fiddle dee dee,” Mama said. “That has nothing to do with a good match.”
“It should have everything to do with it!” Bianca tripped on her skirt and caught herself on the banister with her free hand. Still Mama did not relent. The doorway to the drawing room loomed ahead of them, and Bianca felt her panic rising both at her mother’s refusal to consider her wishes and the fact that Lord Strapshire would be waiting for her on the other side of that door. “I cannot make a match with a man I cannot respect, and I will not be thrown after Lord Strapshire any longer.”
Mama stopped suddenly and glared at her. “I have one daughter, Bianca, and I will see her well settled in a good situation. I rose my family’s status through marriage to your father, and you will do the same. The placement of your brothers depends upon it. Unless and until a better catch shows an interest, you will absolutely be thrown after Lord Strapshire, and we will praise the heavens together for his attention. Stop falling prey to such idle fantasies as love matches and your feelings and center your mind on the aspects of a match that truly matter—money and position.”
Bianca opened her mouth to respond to this absolutely ridiculous bit of advice, but Mama yanked her forward, opened the door with one hand and fairly pushed Bianca into the room. She stumbled a few steps before coming to a stop. Several sets of eyes turned to look at her, but it was those blasted green ones that made her clench her jaw.
Lord Strapshire crossed the room toward her. He must have missed her a great deal in the four minutes she had been absent. She could still call him handsome, but the pronouncement was no longer a compliment. She would rather he be considerate instead of handsome, and interested in topics other than his own inflated sense of grandness.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Davidson?” he asked in a low voice, but it was still loud enough that everyone in the room could hear him. “It shall be our third dance of the night, you know.” He winked as though prompting her to look for the hidden meaning in his words, but she was well aware that his particular attention was meant to show everyone where his intentions lay. Three dances in one evening was practically an engagement in this part of England—even at a dinner party instead of a ball. Especially if the man doing the asking was wealthy, titled, and handsome, it seemed.
Bianca clasped her hands in front of her and steeled her confidence. Mama was entitled to her opinions and her narrow-minded expectations, but it was Bianca’s future, and she would not be pushed into an intolerable situation. Since nothing else had worked so far, she would have to be bold. “I would not care to dance,” she said evenly. A shared gasp filled the space around her. “If you’ll excuse—”
“Nonsense,” he said with a laugh. He stepped forward and took her clasped hands in both of his. He began leading her to the portion of the room where the furniture had been moved to allow dancing.
She tried to pull her hands away. A woman had every right to accept or reject her dance partner, and since Bianca’s attention had been dominated by him all evening, it was within reason for her to mingle with her other guests.
“Lord Strapshire,” she said, trying to keep the contempt from her voice. “I need to be attentive to my other guests.”
Instead of responding, he pulled her toward him and then swung her around until he could put one hand on her waist and draw her closer to him. Her hands fell on his shoulder and his waist if for no other reason than to steady herself.
“This is not just any dance,” he said, still grinning his cocky half-grin. “This is a waltz with me, and we are the picture of beauty and grace—your green dress notwithstanding. I do think the color detracts from the green of my eyes.”
She belatedly noted that the opening measure and positions of the dancers indeed indicated a waltz. She opened her mouth to protest even more ardently, but he pulled her into the steps. His breath smelled like pickles, and they hadn’t even eaten pickles with dinner!
He raised his eyebrows at her. “I do, however, love this coy, country girl ruse you are playing. I find it very engaging.”
“It is not meant to be engaging,” Bianca said, certain her mother would have her head for this behavior. “While I am flattered by your attention, I do not feel you and I are well suited.”
He laughed and spun them around so fast that it took a moment for her to recover from the dizziness. “Oh, I am entranced!” he said, then laughed again.
She tried to pull away but he only held her tighter. “I. Do. Not. Desire. Your. Attention. Lord Strapshire,” she said through her teeth.
“Of course you do,” he said, still smiling. He looked at her with those green eyes that suddenly resembled pond scum more than emeralds. “Everyone desires my attention, and your dark hair perfectly complements my golden locks. You are also just the right height and figure to complement my own physicality. Why, we shall have artists clamoring to paint our portrait for the very sake of the beauty we
create just by being in one another’s company. Think of how handsome our children shall be.”
Perhaps other girls would swoon over his compliments. Instead, Bianca was all the more desperate to put an end to this. She’d appreciated the flattery in the beginning, until she realized that all he wanted and all he saw was a pretty face. Truly Mama could not want Bianca saddled with such a man. No man was as arrogant and tedious as this one, and though Bianca did not want to upset her mother, she would not sacrifice her own happiness for Mama’s pride.
“Lord Strapshire,” she said calmly and evenly as they continued to waltz across the small space. A few more couples were attempting the dance, though there was not enough room for them, which resulted in a great deal of bumping and “Beg your pardon.” It also served to keep her conversation with Lord Strapshire private as there was too much commotion for anyone to be overly attentive to them.
“I mean no disrespect, Lord Strapshire, but I am trying to be very clear that I do not desire your attention. I am sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” he said, giving her a saucy wag of his eyebrows. “Do continue this role of unwilling damsel. I love it. Only wear blue next time. Blue complements my eyes so well.”
Bianca clenched her teeth and then caught her mother’s look from where she stood across the room. Mama’s expression was concerned, but not for the right reasons, Bianca was sure. She would be worried Bianca was being rude, not that Lord Strapshire was.
As they skirted the dance area, Bianca looked from one face to another in the small crowd: friends, neighbors, people she had known all her life. Yet not one of them would understand why she would not want the attention of a man like Lord Strapshire. Any other girl in this village, let alone this room, would be out of their minds with jubilation were his interest directed to them. It was bad luck for everyone that he had set his sights on one woman who could never, ever be happy at his side.
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