by Bree Wolf
Chapter One – A Most Unexpected Caller
No more than a day later
“You danced with the Earl of Wentford?”
Agnes heaved a deep sigh, instantly regretting sharing the events of last night with her cousin. Indeed, Connie had always been one easily excited, her wide eyes growing even wider as her mind no doubt conjured an image of a real-life fairytale. “He insisted,” Agnes replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What was I to do? Snub him in front of everyone?”
In order to escape her cousin’s watchful eyes, Agnes rose from the settee and walked over to the window, her back turned. She looked out at the quiet street as she had countless times before, feeling safely ensconced in her childhood home, a place she loved beyond all others. It was a snug little house with a snug little garden, nothing even remotely impressive, but it had always been home.
“Are you telling me you did not enjoy dancing with him?” Connie demanded, the soft rustling of her skirts suggesting that she, too, had risen to her feet.
Agnes all but held her breath for it was only too easy to see what her cousin’s question hinted at. “It was pleasant enough,” Agnes replied, waiting another heartbeat or two before she turned to face Connie.
A wide smile came to her cousin’s face as her brown eyes swept over Agnes. “You like him, do you not?” Her gaze narrowed in thought. “And yet, you’re displeased that you do. Why? Do you not believe his intentions to be honorable?”
Agnes swallowed hard, remembering only too well how Lord Wentford had made her feel. It had been the only thing on her mind from the moment he had left her side at the ball the night before until…until now. It seemed, all of a sudden, she was utterly incapable of thinking of anyone else but him. How irritating! “I admit, he is a charming man. Yes, he is handsome and kind and well situated and respected and…” Her voice trailed off as the chasm between them became more and more insurmountable with each word to leave her lips. Agnes heaved a deep sigh, unable to ignore the deep sense of disappointment that settled in her chest. “He is everything I am not. Believe me, there is no reason a man like him would want to marry a woman like me. None.” The finality of that thought brought another pang of regret. “I would be a fool to believe him sincere in his intentions.” The set of her jaw hardened, and she met her cousin’s curious gaze with a stern look of her own. “And I won’t be made a fool of.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Connie strode forward, her hands waving in the air as though she were trying to shoo away a fly. “What are you saying? Are you saying he proposed?” Eagerness to know every detail lit up her face, and she clasped her hands together, bringing them to her chest in a gesture that spoke to her deeply romantic nature. Ever since finding true love for herself, she had been pushing Agnes to believe that anything was possible, even a love match for an old spinster like her.
Thus far, Agnes had not had the heart to disappoint her beloved cousin, a woman who was like a sister to her. However, she would not allow herself to be led down a path that could only end in disappointment. After all, why would anyone want to marry her?
Connie’s hands seized hers with an eagerness that made Agnes sway on her feet. “Did he? Did he ask for your hand?”
“Well…” Agnes felt her brow furrow as she thought back to the night before. “I don’t think he truly asked.”
Connie frowned. “What does that mean? How can you not be certain if he asked you or not?”
Agnes heaved a deep sigh, once again regretting speaking of this at all. “He did not ask, but…but he stated that it was his intention to marry me and that any resistance on my part would only strengthen his resolve.” Had those not been his exact words? Indeed, to Agnes’ deep regret, they had found their way into her memory, lingering there, teasing her.
A wide smile spread over Connie’s face. “Oh, how endearing!”
Agnes pulled her hands out of her cousin’s tight grip. “It is not endearing! It is infuriating!” A few quick steps carried her across their small drawing room to the other side before she turned and marched back. “It is clearly a bet or a wager or some sort of…” Words failed her as her teeth gritted together and she stared at her cousin. “He does not truly want to marry me! You’ll see. It was nothing but a game, and you shall believe me when he fails to call on me today,” she scoffed, “for he promised to do so.”
In that moment, a knock sounded on the door to the drawing room before Herman strode in, his wrinkled eyes slightly pinched as he offered her a courteous bow. “Pardon me, Miss Bottombrook, but Lord Wentford is here to see you.”
“Curse that man!” Agnes hissed under her breath. Had he no decency? Yet, to her great shame, she could not deny that her heart once more did one of those little somersaults upon hearing his name, upon hearing that he was indeed here, that he had kept his promise. It was foolish and, yet, it was true. The only question was, why? What did you want from her?
“Yes, it is becoming quite clear to me, dear cousin,” Connie said with an annoyingly smug smile upon her face, “that Lord Wentford has no interest in you at all.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in a gesture that suggested her foolishness. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Still, that smug smile remained and possibly grew even larger.
Herman paused, casting an uncertain gaze from Agnes to her cousin. “Shall I show him inside, Miss?”
Before Agnes could say anything, Connie stepped toward Herman, her head bobbing up and down with such eagerness that Agnes briefly feared it might come loose and fall to the floor. “Yes, if you please. We are most happy to receive him.” She looked over her shoulder and smirked at Agnes. “Do try to smile. After all, he’s an earl.”
Agnes shrugged. “So?” She crossed her arms over her chest, going for the most defiant gesture she could think of. If he wanted to play her for a fool, she would not make it easy for him.
Unfortunately, the moment Lord Wentford stepped into the room, his moss-green eyes settling upon hers, Agnes felt her resistance being washed away. Her foolish heart almost leapt out of her chest, and she had to pinch her fingers into her upper arms in order to keep still and not move toward him like the foolish girl she still seemed to be somewhere deep down.
“Good morning, Nessa,” Lord Wentford greeted her with a wickedly charming smile, those teasing eyes of his whispering of the same intimacy he had boldly assumed between them the night before.
Agnes clenched her jaw. “I would appreciate it if you did not address me so informally, my lord.” She looked at her cousin, whose eyes were wide with fascination as she looked back and forth between Agnes and her visitor. “May I introduce my cousin, Lady Crawford.”
He grinned at her, then turned his attention to Connie. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” He offered her a courteous bow, and Agnes could see that—with a swiftness that annoyed her—Lord Wentford had just secured himself her cousin’s good opinion.
“We are most delighted to see you here this morning,” Connie told him, beaming. “Agnes has told me everything about last night.”
A devilish twinkle came to Lord Wentford’s eyes as he turned toward her. “Is that so, Nessa?” A large step carried him closer, his gaze fixed upon her, looking at her in that oddly unsettling way that chased goosebumps up and down her skin. “What did you say?”
Agnes could see that daring look in his moss-green eyes and knew that he was teasing her, challenging her. Indeed, it seemed to please him that she had spoken of him. “I merely informed my cousin of your duplicity,” she told him in a most haughty manner.
Annoyingly, Lord Wentford seemed to find her amusing, a large smile spreading over his face. “Do you still not believe me, Nessa?” He moved closer, and Agnes felt compelled to retreat.
“Would you please not address me so informally,” she chided him, lifting her chin a fraction, not allowing herself to be intimidated by the way he was drawing closer, the look in his eyes making her stomach flutter.
He chuckled. �
�Do not pretend you don’t like it, Nessa,” he said pointedly, daring her to lash out at him. Indeed, he was a most unusual man!
“Perhaps you two should take a stroll through the garden,” Connie suddenly suggested, meeting Agnes’ scathing look with a smug one of her own.
“What a wonderful idea,” Lord Wentford exclaimed before he stepped aside and gallantly offered her his arm.
Glaring at her cousin, Agnes reluctantly slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, contemplating how best to go about proving to him that he would never gain her favor, that he was all but wasting his time, that he would never win whatever wager had brought him to her door today.
As they moved out into the hall, the door to her father’s study opened and he stepped out, his gray hair disheveled as always, his glasses a bit askew upon his nose and a somewhat distracted look in his eyes as he mumbled something under his breath. He all but collided with Lord Wentford, only then realizing that there were other people in the hall. His head snapped up, and he squinted at their visitor. “Oh, dear, I must’ve been truly inattentive,” he glanced at Agnes, noting the way her hand rested upon Lord Wentford’s arm, “for I cannot say that I recall my daughter having a suitor.” He squinted again, a mild chuckle leaving his lips. “Pray tell, my lord, who are you?”
Agnes knew that most people found her father’s manners lacking, his inattention to those around him inexcusable and his focus on his work nothing but shameful. After all, even as the third son of a baron, he ought not waste his time with an occupation. Still, the sciences had always been her father’s greatest love, after her and her late mother, of course.
“Grant Barrett, Earl of Wentford,” Lord Wentford replied with a smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Agnes’ father nodded. “Certainly. Certainly.” His gaze strayed to his daughter. “Have you spoken to me of him before? I admit I do not recall his name.”
“I have not,” Agnes replied truthfully with a sideways glance at Lord Wentford, wanting him to know that he had made less of an impression then he probably thought. “And he’s not my suitor. He is merely—”
“I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage,” Lord Wentford interrupted, that annoying glitter in his eyes once more as he looked from her father to her. “Would you grant us your blessing?”
Agnes heard her cousin draw in a shuddering breath, her face lighting up, while she herself experienced a moment of disbelief, quickly followed by one of deep annoyance. “How dare you?” She snatched her hand back, glaring at him with every ounce of outrage she could muster. “I am not—you are not—” Completely overwhelmed by this most unexpected situation, Agnes could do little else but glare at him.
Lord Wentford grinned. The nerve of that man! “I admit I’ve only been your daughter’s suitor since last night,” he told her father honestly. “However, she has made such a life-changing impression upon me that I do not dare hesitate in stating my intentions.”
Agnes knew she ought to say something. She ought to tell him off, make it unequivocally clear that she would not marry him, that she would not allow him to make a fool of her. After all, he could not be sincere, could he? Yet, no word made it past her lips, her mind temporarily frozen in shock. As daring as he had been even the night before, Agnes would not have expected this.
“You intend to marry my daughter?” her father inquired from their visitor, no sign of shock upon his face. Instead, the hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth, and Agnes almost groaned at the sight of it. Why was it that not even her own family seemed to be on her side?
Lord Wentford nodded, the look upon his face suddenly serious as though he were truly concerned about gaining her father’s favor. “I do.”
“I see. I see.” Her father pushed his glasses back onto his nose, his eyes blinking rapidly for a moment. “May I ask why?”
If Lord Wentford felt taken aback by her father’s question, he did not show it. Instead, the look upon his face seemed to soften, relax even, as though the two men had already gained some sort of understanding. Agnes wanted to kick him! “He does not want to marry me, Father. All of this is simply some sort of…misunderstanding.”
“What can I say?” Lord Wentford said in answer to her father’s question, all but ignoring her interruption. “She swept me off my feet.” A deep smile came to his face, and Agnes found herself draw in a shuddering breath as his gaze momentarily darted to her. “I saw her, and I simply knew.” He turned to look at her more fully, the look in his eyes so sincere that Agnes almost believed him. “I fell head over heels for her, and I don’t care about societal expectations, about rules of courtship or anything else. I want her as my wife. Now.”
For a seemingly endless moment, Agnes stared at him, torn between her mind’s cautious counsel and her heart’s daring excitement. For the truth was, she did feel something when he looked at her, when he spoke to her the way he did. As much as she hated to admit it—even if only to herself—she was not immune to him. Perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps she deserved to be made a fool of.
“Very well. Very well.” Her father’s voice shook her from the trance that had fallen over her, and she blinked. “If my daughter accepts you, I give you my blessing.”
Agnes’ head snapped around, and her eyes fell open to stare at her father. “Father! I have no intention of ever marrying him. This is…this is…”
“I thank you, sir.” Lord Wentford grinned. “I promise I shall do my utmost to conquer Nessa’s heart.”
Her father had already made to turn away, but then paused and looked back, a bit of a puzzled frown upon his face. “Nessa?” His pale eyes moved to her, a soft smile upon his face, the kind of smile she always saw on him when his thoughts drifted to her late mother. “Yes, beautiful. I wonder why we never thought of it.” He turned and walked away, slightly shuffling his feet. “Nessa. Beautiful.”
A look of triumph lingered in Lord Wentford’s eyes as he looked at her. “How about that walk, Nessa?” he asked, once more holding out his arm to her.
Agnes glared at him. “Why are you doing this? You cannot truly wish to marry me.”
Inhaling what seemed to be a steadying breath, Lord Wentford stepped closer, his moss-green eyes looking deep into hers. “Why not?”
Agnes knew that there were countless reasons that spoke against her. She knew that a man like him did not marry a woman like her. Yet, in that moment, as he looked at her the way he did as though he had all but forgotten the world around them and saw only her, Agnes could not remember a single one of all those reasons.
“Will you walk with me?” Lord Wentford asked tenderly, his gaze never veering from hers as he waited patiently.
Agnes could feel her pulse hammering in her veins. She felt her breath coming fast. She felt that flutter in her stomach, a flutter she had not felt before, at least not before last night. “Very well.” Her voice was almost breathless as she placed her hand upon his arm, knowing that she should not, but unable to deny him this small request. She would not marry him. She would not give in, but there was no harm in a quick stroll through the garden, was there?
The look upon Connie’s face as they passed by her spoke of different expectations, and Agnes had to grit her teeth to keep an answering smile from showing upon her face.
Chapter Two – A Most Reluctant Lady
Grant liked Mr. Bottombrook. He liked him not only because the man had already given him his blessing to marry his daughter, but because of the way he had looked upon her. Indeed, despite his distractedness, Mr. Bottombrook clearly adored his daughter. There had been such love and devotion in the way he had looked upon her, his eyes knowing, his words easily responding to Nessa’s hesitation, that Grant had felt a pang of envy.
Grant’s own mother only ever called him Wentford, not even the slightest hint of emotion in her voice whenever she spoke to him. Especially compared to Mr. Bottombrook’s, the look in her eyes could be considered nothing else but cold, ic
y even. Yet, it was the way people in the ton conversed with one another, even family. It was nothing unusual, but now that Grant had seen the way between Mr. Bottombrook and his daughter, he could not help but want more.
In truth, he had wanted more ever since his eyes had first fallen on Nessa. Yes, as the heir to his late father’s title, Grant had always known his duty. Now, that he was the new Earl of Wentford, his mother had become more insistent, constantly urging him to seek a wife and produce an heir.
Before, that thought had been nothing more than duty, responsibility. Now, it was so much more.
Grant looked down at Nessa as they walked out into her family’s garden, miniscule in comparison to his own, but lovingly tended and filled with something his own was lacking. “Will you look at me?” he asked softly, noting the tension in her shoulders as she kept her gaze directed on the gravel path in front of her.
She blinked, and then her gaze rose, those hazel eyes of hers deep and unfathomable.
“Do you truly doubt the sincerity of my intentions?” Grant inquired, hard-pressed to hang on to any kind of rational thought when all he wanted to do was reach out to her and pull her close. The mere sight of her was intoxicating, and he did not feel like himself when those bottomless eyes looked into his. He felt like a new man.
“You don’t even know me,” she replied as her hand slipped from his arm and she took a step back. Her eyes remained on his, but she shook her head. “We have not spoken to one another before last night, and—”
“Does it matter?” Grant challenged, unwilling to allow her to retreat, to put a barrier between them. “It does not for me. I knew from the moment I saw you that—”
“Stop!” The look in her eyes grew hard as she glared at him. “Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain from making a fool of me? I told you last night and I’m telling you again, I know that there is no reason why a man like you would—”