Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  Up until two weeks ago, he’d thought that demure, retiring approach restful. Now he wondered how long he would be willing to carry the conversation by himself before giving up. If tonight was any indication, about seven minutes was his limit. It was only years of practice that had kept his relief from showing when Teresa had appeared at his elbow to exchange a few pleasantries with Olivia before escorting him off again.

  Caroline Beaumont was neither as talkative as Georgia nor as reticent as Olivia — a plus in her favor, he supposed. Still, he couldn’t keep from looking around, trying to pick Teresa out in the thinning crowd. For all the frustration she caused him, he couldn’t deny that she was far more interesting to talk to than any of the ladies he’d met tonight.

  Frowning internally, he scanned over the crowd again. There weren’t that many rooms open for guests and he’d had the distinct sensation that she had been keeping an eye on his conversations. All his efforts to extricate himself from the conversation thus far had failed and he had to admit her assistance would be welcome. Tempting as it was to walk away, there was no excuse for that level of rudeness, even if it might be overlooked coming from an eligible gentleman.

  “Are you planning to attend the Rossboroughs’ masquerade, Lord Carlington? I had my final fitting for my costume today and I’m so excited for it.” Caroline fluttered her eyelashes up at him and he mentally crossed her name off the list a second time. She’d done her part at holding up her end of the conversation but he’d exhausted the list of topics James had given him without a single sign that her world consisted of more than the whirl of Society events.

  Still, civility demanded a response. “I believe I have an invitation, although I haven’t decided-” Catching sight of Teresa, he cut himself off. She was backed into the corner, Lord Radcliff standing in front of her and blocking her from view. He appeared to be gesturing wildly, the conversation intense. “…but if I am, I will be sure to watch for you. In the meantime, I believe I see someone trying to get my attention. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He didn’t wait for her reply but began to work his way toward Teresa. He couldn’t make out any of the words, even as he drew closer — they were keeping their voices hushed — but he could see that Teresa’s lips were pressed tightly together, pale lines in a face gone colorless. Breaking free of the group, he lengthened his stride.

  “There you are, Miss Selkirk. I was beginning to wonder where you had gone.” He slipped around Lord Radcliff to stand next to her, close enough that he could feel the tremors she was trying to hide. Turning back to Radcliff, he met the other gentleman’s glare.

  “This is a private conversation, Carlington.” Radcliff’s face, already red, was darkening as he forced the words out. “Your presence is not welcome.”

  “Was it? You’ll have to forgive the interruption then, as I was hoping to escort Miss Selkirk and her aunt home and my horses can’t wait much longer.” He turned to Teresa. “Should I go find your aunt without you?”

  He barely had time to finish the question before she responded. “No, I think everything that needs to be said has been. My aunt is likely tired of waiting for us anyway.” She placed her hand on his offered one. “Have a good evening, Lord Radcliff.”

  Leaving behind Lord Radcliff, he escorted Teresa to the small antechamber where the food had been served earlier. Her movements were stiff, with none of the grace she had shown during their dance together. None of the color had returned to her face, although the shaking had stopped as the distance from Lord Radcliff had increased. Frowning, he plucked a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing servant and pressed it into her hands.

  “Drink.” When she motioned as if to refuse, he pinned her with a look. “Or else you’ll give him the satisfaction of seeing you swoon over whatever it was the two of you were discussing so animatedly.”

  Teresa’s eyes flashed. “I don’t swoon, my lord. I’m hardly that missish.” Still, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a large swallow. He was pleased to see some color begin to seep back into her face, although she was still far paler than she should have been. “I appreciate your assistance there, although it wasn’t required. I could have handled him on my own.”

  Martin raised an eyebrow, stung by the edge to her words. “And yet you didn’t turn down my help, even though you knew I was lying through my teeth about the arrangements to escort you home.” He frowned. “Speaking of which, where is your aunt? Why did she let him trap you in the corner like that? Shouldn’t she have intervened as your chaperone?”

  Teresa’s laugh was low and bitter. “If my aunt had been paying any attention, she would have prevented anyone else from interrupting my conversation with Lord Radcliff. I told you she favors his suit. She’s been pushing me at him since the Season started, no matter what I say about it. Even the carriage ride with you hasn’t convinced her that I might have another option.”

  He hadn’t realized her situation was quite that desperate, despite what she had said before about her aunt’s preference for the man. In retrospect, he supposed it should have been obvious, to have driven her to make the bargain she had. No chaperone worth her salt would have allowed Lord Radcliff to corner her charge like that. “Maybe tonight will convince her otherwise,” he offered, despite the fact that they both knew his “courtship” of her was a sham.

  “Unlikely.” Teresa looked at the champagne glass in her hand and seemed surprised to realize it was empty. “Lord Radcliff, on the other hand, needs no further convincing. Whatever that is worth. He tells me that I shouldn’t allow myself to be flattered by your attentions when you are clearly only out to use me for your own purposes. As if he wasn’t trying to do the same thing, only much less honestly.”

  “I appreciate the credit for being honest,” he shot back, stung by any comparison that paired him with Radcliff.

  It was her turn to look quizzically at him. “I didn’t mean to offend. I find your honesty about your goals far more to my taste than the false compliments and pretend interest that Lord Radcliff offers. Besides, our arrangement is at least a mutually beneficial one.” She broke off, pressing her lips together tightly for a moment before shaking her head and looking back up at him. “I was approached by a number of gentlemen tonight, looking for a few minutes of conversation. A few even asked what ball I might be at next. That hasn’t happened since my first Season.”

  He should have been pleased to hear that his attentions had achieved the desired effect. Teresa had, after all, been doing her best to introduce him to eligible young ladies. She’d attempted to find out his preferences, despite his intransigence on the topic — something he would clearly need to reconsider based on tonight’s experiences — and he couldn’t help but admire her determination and the sheer courage it must have taken to propose their deal in the first place. Brief as their interactions may have been, he knew she deserved better than the way the ton had treated her, silly ideas about love and equality or not.

  Instead, he felt his gut twist at the idea of Teresa surrounded by a crowd of gentlemen, none of whom would recognize the spark that made her unique. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It was merely the idea of the ton taking what made her distinct and slowly grinding it away while supposedly celebrating her as an Original.

  “Besides, it isn’t my aunt who needs to be convinced. It’s my uncle. He holds the purse strings.” Teresa didn’t appear to have noticed his reaction. “He’ll take the match with Lord Radcliff rather than support me until my majority but if he thinks I could make a better connection for him, he’ll put his foot down and stop my aunt.”

  Martin considered himself a pragmatic man when it came to marriage and the ton but even so, it was jarring to hear a young woman talk about the reality in such blunt terms. He never knew what to expect from her in their conversations. Even when she infuriated him, she surprised him. She’s far more capable of holding up her end of the conversation than any of the other young ladies I’ve met tonight.

 
But he wasn’t marrying for conversation. He was marrying for his inheritance and the heir he needed eventually. All he needed was a wife who would do her duty and wouldn’t become a burden to the estate. It had taken years to recover from his father’s extravagances. He wouldn’t allow anyone to jeopardize that, not when he was so close.

  “To convincing your uncle, then.” He offered her his arm. “I think escorting you home will help with that, don’t you?”

  Teresa smiled at him, a knowing glint in her eye that he wasn’t quite sure he liked. “And you have opinions to share after tonight’s conversations, I expect.”

  No, he definitely didn’t like being quite that easy to read. Most especially not by this woman, who had intruded on his thoughts more often than not over the past three days. The sooner their bargain drew to a close, the better. “One or two,” he said, leading the way to the door. “One or two.”

  Chapter 8

  If the Westons’ ball was heaven for wallflowers, the annual masquerade at the Rossboroughs’ had to be one of the levels of purgatory.

  The ball itself was widely regarded as one of the highlights of the Season, with anticipation building for weeks beforehand. Costumes were a fiercely kept secret, with every lady looking for a husband striving to differentiate herself from the crowd. Sumptuous fabrics, ostrich plumes, fortunes of lace and jewels, complete with fantastical masks, flowers, and props.

  It was a spectacle designed to dazzle and inspire awe and when Teresa had first stepped into the ballroom two years before, it had succeeded for the first five minutes.

  Then she had realized that for all the spectacle, there was very little for a wallflower to do beyond watching the crowd — and none of the comforts that made that tolerable. Only a few chairs lined the sides of the ballroom, all occupied by the older ladies of the ton, sharp eyes on the lookout for any attempts to use the cover provided by the masks as an opportunity to circumvent the rules of propriety. The lemonade was watered down, weak enough that only a bare hint of lemon remained, and there were never enough cakes to allow all the guests a chance at one.

  The only reason Teresa knew that the cakes were any good was because Charlotte always insisted on arriving early to these events, unwilling to miss any chance to ingratiate herself with the Rossboroughs. Even with that, she had missed the cakes entirely her first year and only managed one of the last ones at last year’s event. That no one else ever mentioned this when the food was so often talked about at other balls was one of the things Teresa still didn’t understand about Society.

  At least the decorations always provided some distraction. This year, swathes of blue-green fabric tumbled down the walls from the curtain rods, pooling when they reached the floor. In one corner, a large trunk had been placed on its side with coins and gems artfully spilling onto the floor.

  Given the lack of a servant keeping an eagle eye on the bounty, Teresa knew they had to be paste. Still, it was artfully done. Teresa’s favorite change had to be the cobalt blue glass surrounding several of the candles. The flickering blue light enhanced the effect of the fabric, making the room feel less familiar and more mysterious.

  She had to admire the creativity that had gone into it, even as she wished that creativity could have extended to including another chair or three for the wallflowers who would be forced to hover at the sides of the ballroom for the rest of the evening. Then again, she supposed underwater kingdoms wouldn’t have much demand for chairs.

  Recognizing the theme made it easy to determine what the Duchess of Rossborough’s costume was supposed to be when she had made her curtsy with her aunt. Teresa had to admit the dress was a stunning choice, with the blue on the skirt fading into a pale peach only a few shades darker than the lady’s skin at the bodice. Instead of diamonds, Lady Rossborough had opted for pearls and sapphires, the former scattered over her mask and hanging in ropes around her neck while the latter sparkled on her fingers and at her ears. The overall image was both elegant and provocative, bringing to mind the famous image of Venus rising from the sea.

  Tongues would be wagging over that choice for weeks to come, Teresa was sure, but no one would say anything to her face and run the risk of missing an invitation to the ball. She clearly had the approval of her husband the duke, who stood beside her wearing a waistcoat of cobalt blue that matched the deepest tones of her dress. His mask was a simple domino trimmed in the same blue and a servant stood behind him, holding a trident. Neptune, then, to match the theme his lady had decided on.

  Teresa smoothed down the skirt of her dress self-consciously, aware that too many people would now see her costume as an attempt to ingratiate herself with the Rossboroughs despite the fact that no one had known what their costumes would be. Assuming anyone figures out who I’m supposed to be, of course.

  Her aunt certainly had had no idea when Teresa had descended the stairs, not that it would have mattered to her if she had. Then again, Charlotte didn’t pay much attention to what Teresa wore or who she talked to unless Teresa’s conduct or dress might reflect on her. Since most of the ton had already made up their minds about Teresa, that gave her more freedom than her aunt realized.

  As much as she might wish for the occasional positive acknowledgment from Charlotte, Teresa preferred being ignored to the cutting remarks and barbed accusations that she wasn’t doing enough that her aunt had continually tossed her direction during the first two years she had lived with them. Charlotte’s only reaction to her dress tonight had been a raised eyebrow.

  Teresa straightened her back. No matter what Society thought of it, she liked the silver gauze over white satin, with silver ribbons laced up the sides. She’d adapted it herself from one of her debut dresses and it remained one of the few dresses that made her feel beautiful. Her mask was a simple silver domino and one of the maids had managed to find a wreath of laurel leaves to complement the simple bun she had pulled her hair into.

  A simple costume, especially compared to the multitude of layers and flounces the shepherdesses would be sporting, but Teresa felt far more comfortable in it. Watching as the first of what would likely be many shepherdesses made her way down the stairs, she was grateful that she had decided to leave her props at home. Although the bow and arrows were smaller than the shepherdess’s crook, she rather doubted she would have been able to find anyone to hold them as she danced.

  Better to leave them home and have her hands free for the evening. She’d spoken to enough gentlemen at the musicale to think at least two or three would ask her for a dance — a change from last year’s event. Of course, then there was the dance she had to save for the Earl of Carlington.

  She resisted the urge to laugh as she remembered watching him talking with Georgia. Or rather, listening to the never-ending stream of commentary Georgia provided as naturally as breathing. His expression hadn’t faltered from its polite mask but she thought she’d detected a tightening around the eyes and there had definitely been a flash of relief when she had joined the conversation.

  Not that she disliked Georgia, but it was clear from their conversation before finding her aunt that her point had been made. He’d promised to think over a few key questions and give her answers — answers that would hopefully help her narrow down the list of candidates. A list Georgia has already been crossed off of, much to his relief. She didn’t need to be a mind reader in order to figure that one out.

  Until he arrived with those answers, however, there wasn’t much for her to do besides stand and watch the crowd. People continued to stream in through the doors to the ballroom, a sea of colorful costumes. For a while, Teresa amused herself doing her best to guess what each costume was supposed to be. As expected, there was a surfeit of shepherdesses, most with dresses completely unlike any shepherdess Teresa had ever encountered out in the country. Teresa counted at least three among the most recent group of debutantes.

  Miss Brindleton clearly wanted to stand out from the crowd and had chosen her costume accordingly. Rather than the flounces
and lace of the shepherdesses, she had opted for a sumptuous green velvet dress calling to mind the Italian Renaissance. Just as clearly, she had given Lord Pembrook warning, as his costume of a court jester complemented hers. A good choice on his part, Teresa felt, as his reputation as a town dandy made any claim towards the values of knighthood suspect.

  Unfortunately for Miss Brindleton, her efforts at gaining attention were no match against the costume Lady St. Claire wore. Teresa heard the shocked whispers preceding her entrance into the ballroom and watched for her at the top of the stairs. The flowing dress of luxurious Indian silks split open at the waist to reveal a pair of loose trousers, while gems winked from her necklace and armbands. A plume of peacock feathers completed the effect — a vibrant, exotic costume. Teresa had to admire her courage, since there was no Lord St. Claire to shield her from the ton’s opprobrium.

  It was only when she heard the strains of the orchestra tuning up for the dancing that she realized that the Earl of Carlington hadn’t arrived early as promised. After their discussion last night, she’d been able to put together a list of candidates for him to dance with tonight but that all relied on him arriving early enough to get on their dance cards — some of which would fill up. If I had any other options…

  Of course she didn’t, which was why she’d made this devil’s bargain in the first place. She resisted the urge to grit her teeth, doing her best to remind herself that it was unladylike.

  “Looking for me?” Teresa jumped as Martin’s voice sounded behind her.

  Somehow he had come up behind her without catching her attention. Part of that might have been his costume. Rather than the elaborate costumes favored by many of the other gentlemen, he had gone with evening dress — but in all black, except for the snowy white of his shirt and cravat. A simple black domino covered the top half of his face, trimmed with a dark green satin that only emphasized the color of his eyes. His hair was artfully disheveled, suggesting a morning waking up after…