by Emily Bryan
It was astonishing. It was appalling. It was, he had to admit, enormously impressive. Even his sister, whom William always felt to be in possession of a regrettably large mouth, could not lay claim to such a feat.
Miss Meldrin struggled to speak around fits of laughter. “That…must be…must be the most you have ever managed.”
Miss Byerly waggled her finger in disagreement, and then used that finger to spell something in the air.
Miss Meldrin squinted at the invisible word before erupting into more fits of laughter. “Oh, the peas! The bowl of peas! I’d forgotten!”
William couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly forget the day one’s friend decided to fit an entire bowl of peas in her mouth. Fascinated by the absurdity of it, he watched as Miss Meldrin once again lost herself to mirth and Miss Byerly chewed with laborious bites.
“There,” Miss Byerly pronounced, after her final swallow. “It is done.”
Miss Meldrin sighed heavily and wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, that was brilliant.”
“Admiral Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar was brilliant,” Miss Byerly replied dryly. “This was desperation.”
“Effective, though.” Miss Meldrin leaned forward to plant a kiss on her friend’s cheek before uncurling herself and hopping down from the window seat. “You’ll have your dances.”
“Your dances,” Miss Beverly corrected, and stood.
Realizing that his presence would soon be noticed, William cleared his throat and stepped into the room as if he’d only just arrived.
“Miss Meldrin. Miss Byerly.” He hid a smile at the guilty start of both women, and moved forward as they curtsied, his gazed transfixed not on his future bride, but on the woman next to her. She of the haughty brows and wide mouth. He stopped in front of them as they straightened, and his eyes caught on a small dab of chocolate Miss Byerly had missed at the corner of her lips. Without warning, he experienced an extraordinary, almost painful urge to lean down and neatly clean away the bit of sweet…with the tip of his tongue.
Why he should find food on her lips so irresistible, he couldn’t begin to say. His body seemed to react independently of all reason. And he placed the blame of what happened next squarely on that dab of chocolate and his unreasonable reaction. Without thought, without any consideration whatsoever given to his plan, he looked right at the woman and said, “Miss Byerly, would you indulge me in a dance?”
She blinked rapidly for a moment, her eyes rounding behind her spectacles. “I…” She shot a quick glance at Miss Meldrin, who looked as surprised as she, then looked back to him, only to resume her blinking.
Perhaps his earlier assessment of her intelligence had been a trifle premature. “If you’d rather not—”
“No,” she cut in quickly. She blinked once more, as if coming to herself. “That is, yes, I would be delighted, of course.”
“Excellent. If—”
“Miss Meldrin, there you are.”
The group turned toward the door at the sound of a young masculine voice. Mr. Edward Seager stepped into the room, looking impossibly dapper in clothes and hair cut in the latest style. Rumor had it Mr. Seager was soon to accept a living, and William felt a pang of sympathy for his future flock. Dandies did not make for ideal vicars.
Mr. Seager’s large brown eyes fell on Miss Meldrin with unabashed adoration. “I’ve been looking for…That is…” He tugged at his waistcoat and bowed low. “Would you do me the very great honor of dancing with me?”
Miss Meldrin slid a covert glance at her friend, a small mischievous smile curling her lips. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Seager.”
His face lit with a delighted grin, Mr. Seager held out an arm and led Miss Meldrin from the room. William watched them go and wondered if it was a bad sign that he didn’t feel particularly put out by the sight of Miss Meldrin on another man’s arm.
Miss Byerly cleared her throat delicately. “Shall we…?” She nodded toward the open door, and fiddled a bit with the waist of her gown.
He found the act of nerves oddly appealing. She’d never before struck him as a woman easily unnerved. “I was thinking perhaps a waltz.”
“A waltz,” she repeated, and her face took on a blush of pleasure, something else he found appealing. She didn’t seem nearly as severe when she was blushing and fiddling with her gown.
As if suddenly becoming aware of the movement, she gripped her fingers tightly at her waist. And then, for several long seconds, the two of them stood in stiff and awkward silence. It occurred to William that he shouldn’t have asked for a waltz, but the suggestion had come without thought. It was the dance he’d wanted with Miss Meldrin. There was some time before the orchestra was scheduled to play a waltz, which neatly provided an excuse to draw out his time with the lady. Time he’d imagined filling by engaging Miss Meldrin in conversation on topics he knew, from the discreet questioning of her mother, she found of interest. Miss Meldrin was an avid reader. Spain was her favorite country on the Continent. She was accomplished at both the pianoforte and the flute.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t the foggiest idea how to pass the time with Miss Byerly. Her interests were a complete mystery to him. Usually, a circumstance such as this would require him to begin a conversation on a suitably banal topic. Something along the lines of “fine fall weather we’re having.” In fact, he had a very clear memory of making that exact comment the last time they’d spoken. He’d be damned if he’d have the same discussion tonight.
“This is your first London Season, is it not?” As alternatives went, it left something to be desired, but it was the best he could come up with without planning.
“It is, yes.” Her eyes flicked away briefly. “I spent the last year on the Continent with the Meldrins.”
Curiosity nagged at him to discover where she’d been in the years preceding. She was six-and-twenty if she was a day. Far too old to be making a coming-out. Why was it that the questions one wasn’t supposed to ask were always the questions one most wanted to ask? Like why she’d eaten an entire slice of cake in a single bite.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked instead, fully expecting a polite response hiding her true opinion. Miss Byerly didn’t strike him as one to appreciate the social whirl.
She surprised him by smiling brightly, and saying in what appeared to be complete sincerity, “Oh, yes. Very much.”
It was his turn to blink. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“All of it?”
Her expression turned quizzical. “Yes.”
“The balls, the dinners, the operas?”
A small laugh escaped her. “Yes.”
“Almacks?”
“Oh, well.” She faltered a little. “It’s the tradition of the thing.”
“So it is,” he agreed. Growing more fascinated with her by the second, he took her arm and led her to a small settee at the center of the room. “What of the rest? The balls and such? Do you enjoy the stifling crush, the inane talk, the often questionable food and—”
“The crush, yes. The rest is avoidable.” She cocked her head at him as he took a seat beside her. “You’ve a very low opinion of such gatherings. Why ever do you attend?” Her eyes grew round behind her spectacles. “I beg your pardon, that was very rude. I—”
“Seems a reasonable question to me,” he replied with a shrug. “And I attend because, as you said, the worst is avoidable. Moreover, if one looks hard enough, and is very lucky, one might find something interesting amid the mindless babble. Something worth the inconvenience.”
“Yes.” Her smile returned, even brighter, and she shifted excitedly in her seat. “Yes, that is exactly what I love about it. It’s rather like digging for treasure, isn’t it? There’s quite a bit of muck to shovel through, but the end result will likely be worth it. And if it’s not, there is still enjoyment to be found in the process. The excitement that comes with wondering, with expectations, with possibilities and…”
He was having a
difficult time concentrating on what she was saying, but not because he considered what she was saying dull. On the contrary, he thought her enthusiasm perfectly charming, for all that it was perfectly unexpected. It was just that he found his attention hopelessly drawn to the excited movement of her lips, and the small, delicious smear of chocolate at the corner. Clearly, if he was to make any sort of reasonable contribution to the conversation, it would need to be removed, immediately.
“Hold still.” He drew out his handkerchief and reached for her. “You’ve a bit of chocolate cake.”
She stopped speaking midsentence, and her hand came up to her lips. He caught it, pulled it down gently, and held it as he slowly wiped away the smudge. Far more slowly than was strictly necessary, but he found he wanted to draw out the moment. She had the slightest hint of roses about her, and he wondered if the fresh feminine scent would be stronger if he leaned closer.
Had he really thought her severe and unappealing only a few minutes ago? She didn’t look the least bit like either at present. In fact, she made a very pretty sight, sitting there with her lips parted in surprise and her eyes wide with uncertainty. Eyes he suddenly realized weren’t a plain brown at all, but an unusually dark green that made him think of deep mountain forests.
Deep mountain forests?
Holy hell, what sort of fanciful babbling was that?
Stunned at the effect her nearness had on him, he withdrew the handkerchief, sat back, and decided to weigh the scales once again in his favor.
“Shall we check your fingers as well?” he asked with a small smile.
“My fingers…” Realization dawned on her face, and with it came a bright stain of red on her cheeks. “You saw.”
“I did, indeed.”
“I…” She swallowed hard. “I’m certain it must have seemed most odd.”
“It did, indeed.”
“I…” He actually heard her swallow. “Oh, dear.”
Chapter Two
To Patience’s mind, embarrassment was available in a variety of forms. She’d experienced quite a few of them in her six-and-twenty years. There was the mild discomfort of wearing dated gowns in a room full of stylish ladies. There was the moderate embarrassment of never having learned the art of small talk and therefore never knowing quite what to say, and the more substantial humiliation of having a father who knew less and said more. There was the painful wounding of pride that came from living off the largesse of family friends, and the outright shame of lying about her circumstances.
Where, she wondered, did the mortification of having been caught stuffing an entire slice of cake into her mouth, by the man one had a desperate tendre for, fit in?
“Miss Byerly, are you all right?”
Somewhere after her father and before the lying, she decided.
“Miss Byerly?”
“Yes. Yes, I…” She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his eyes. His beautiful dark eyes she’d previously thought of as kind, but which now danced with wicked merriment. “Are you going to tell?”
“About the cake?” He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket. “I rather doubt anyone would believe me.”
Of course they would believe him. He was an earl. He could announce to one and all that he had witnessed her trying to eat the drapery, and they’d believe him. Or believe there was enough truth to make life very difficult for her.
“I had reason,” she told him.
“I should dearly love to hear it.” He glanced down to where her fingers were once again worrying at the material of her gown. “Settle your feathers, Miss Byerly. I’ll not betray your secret.”
“Oh, thank you—”
“But I want something in return.” He smiled a little at her wary look. “I want to know how one becomes aware of having such a talent.”
She let herself rest against the back cushions of the settee, and blew out a quick breath of both relief and resignation. He wasn’t going to shame her, but neither was he going to let the matter drop. “I suppose one is born with an innate awareness of it.”
“We’re born with an innate awareness of a great many abilities,” he pointed out. “Generally, a proper education dissuades us from taking advantage of the most ill-ad-vised.”
She gave him what she hoped was a haughty sort of look. “Like eavesdropping on two unsuspecting young women?”
“Nothing ill-advised about eavesdropping. It’s a remarkably useful tool. It’s getting caught in the act that I’d advise against.”
She rather thought the same could be said for her talent. “But you would advise admitting to it?”
“In this case, yes.” His eyes darted to her mouth. “It’s provided me with the most interesting conversation I’ve had in some time.”
She resisted the sudden urge to lick her lips. “Perhaps you should be more particular with whom you converse.”
“Difficult, when those with whom I most wish to speak are so often nowhere to be found. Miss Meldrin and yourself are deuced elusive creatures.”
Patience tried and failed not to feel disappointed at the pointed mention of her friend. It was no secret the Earl of Casslebury was considering taking a wife. Nor was it a secret that men of wealth and position did not make plain women of neither family nor fortune into countesses. They chose pretty young ladies of consequence. Young ladies such as Caroline Meldrin.
No doubt the earl sought information about her friend, or perhaps he hoped to inspire jealousy. Either way, his interest lay elsewhere.
She should have known, should have realized his intentions from the very start. But he’d been standing before her, looking so terribly handsome in his dark evening wear. Handsome, strong, and so wonderfully dependable. How a man could look dependable, she couldn’t quite say. She might have said it was his self-assured aristocratic bearing, but his features weren’t refined quite enough for that. His jaw was too broad, his cheekbones too sharp, and his eyes and hair too dark. Perhaps it was the military carriage of his tall, muscled frame, or his deep commanding voice, or…Well, she had no idea; he simply exuded a sense of dependability she found most attractive. Her heart always leapt at the sight of him. When he’d asked her to dance, it had nearly burst from her chest.
Likely it was best that it was now settled uncomfortably at her feet. It wouldn’t do to build hopes around such an unlikely prospect. She pushed away her disenchantment and tried to recall what excuse Caroline had given for their latest disappearance.
“Caroline’s hem required mending,” she said, relatively certain that had been the one.
The corner of his mouth hooked up. “Miss Meldrin’s gowns require a great deal of mending, it seems to me. One would think she’d have switched modistes by now.”
“Yes…well…” She fixed her eyes on the wall behind him. “She’s quite loyal.”
“You must be as well.” He caught and held her gaze. “To lie for her.”
She narrowed her eyes a fraction. “Are you teasing me, Lord Casslebury?”
“I am, yes.”
“I see.” She gave that some consideration. “Are you in the habit of teasing ladies you barely know?”
“No.” He looked mildly baffled. “I believe you may be the first woman other than my sister I have ever teased.”
“Oh, well.” She felt a flutter in her chest and wondered how on earth one responded to such an admission. “I…Thank you?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then burst into laughter.
Apparently, that was not how one was supposed to respond to such an admission.
“You surprise me, Miss Byerly,” he finally managed to say.
“I imagine I do,” she muttered. She wondered how great a surprise she would have been to him a year ago, before she’d had the opportunity to acquire at least a handful of social graces.
“You give a very different impression from the person you seem to truly be,” he said.
“There are a great many in the ton who do the same,” she pointed out.
>
“Yes, but not quite so much by accident, I think.”
Not every false impression she gave was an accident, but she wasn’t about to admit to that after less than an hour of the man’s acquaintance, even if it was preceded by a much longer fascination on her part. “You make me sound like an ingénue.”
“I don’t know if I’d call you that, specifically, but there is—”
He broke off when the elderly man in front of the fire suddenly launched to his feet, his substantial weight sending the heavy chair scratching against the floor. “Aha! I have it! I have it! Around the magnet!” The man bounded toward them, clothes askew, white hair standing on end, blue eyes wide and wild. “It goes around the magnet!” He came to a stop in front of Patience, jabbed a finger toward the ceiling, and spun the index finger of his other hand around the first. “Do you see? Around! Ha!”
Patience felt the stirrings of panic. “Yes, I see,” she said soothingly, rising slowly from her seat. “Why don’t we sit down and you can tell—”
“Around!” He jabbed his finger up again and bolted from the room.
“Oh, dear.” Oh, damn it all to hell. “I…” She gave Lord Casslebury an apologetic smile and edged quickly toward the door. “I have to go.”
Apparently under the impression that she was no longer comfortable standing in the library with him now that their chaperone—if the sleeping gentleman could be considered such—had left them, he smiled and followed.
“Of course. Perhaps I can convince the musicians to play that waltz a bit early and…”
His voice trailed off as the elderly man, now halfway down the hall, stopped in his tracks to inform a stout, middle-aged maid exiting from a nearby room that “it goes around!” And then, to illustrate his point, grabbed the poor woman about the waist and danced her in a circle.
The maid yelped in surprise. “Good heavens!”
“Oh, no.” Patience moved forward, but the man had completed the revolution, deposited the woman on her feet, and bolted down the hall before she’d managed to take more than a few steps. Unwilling to draw more attention to the matter than absolutely necessary, she checked her pace into a brisk walk. When they reached the maid, she was patting her chest and gaping at her sudden and uninvited dance partner as he disappeared around a corner.