A Gentleman to Avoid: Sweet Regency Romance (Sherton Sisters Book 3)

by Wendy May Andrews

  “Excellent work, Dolly, as always, thank you so much. I love the artistry that you bring to my hair. I know that if I was left to my own devices, it would only be a plain plait every day.”

  “Oh, get on with you, my lady, I know you’d manage just fine. I’ve seen you arrange your sisters’ hair from time to time.”

  “It’s much easier doing it for someone else than for yourself, to be sure.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  “But even when I did it for the little ones, it was usually just a plait,” Vicky concluded with a laugh as she pinched her cheeks to add some colour. With another frowning assessment of her appearance, Vicky finally nodded and left the room with another murmured acknowledgement to the servant.

  For the briefest moment, Vicky had the sensation as though she were going into battle as she stepped out of her bedchamber. She was dressed in the debutante’s uniform of modestly fashionable attire and perfect social skills. The guest list had been laboured over to ensure that no ladies would feel left out or overly competitive, so she needn’t feel as though she were fighting anyone. So, she couldn’t quite put her finger on why she felt battle ready. Perhaps it was a battle with herself, to not make a cake of herself in front of Ashford Northcott on the one hand, while also managing to catch herself a suitable husband on the other.

  Head held high and armed with all the knowledge she and Georgia had gleaned during the last couple weeks of the Season, Vicky descended to the salon where the guests were sure to be assembling before supper.

  Chapter Seven

  Ashford was trying not to watch for her but knew the instant Vigilia had reached the reception room. It was as though the air shimmered slightly. Perhaps, it was just a strange sense that the back of his head had decided to fixate upon the chit and stood at attention whenever she was near. Whatever the case, it took more effort than was warranted not to turn and watch her enter the room.

  His awareness of her allowed him to follow her progression through the room, even without watching her with his eyes. Ever gracious, she nodded, spoke to, or curtsied before everyone she encountered, always the exactly correct, socially acceptable greeting. He marvelled at her poise, despite her evident youth. Perhaps, he thought, she wasn’t as young as he had calculated. She had missed at least one Season due to her grandmother’s death, after all.

  When she stopped before Lord Bertram, Ash couldn’t help but turn and watch.

  “Good evening, my lord, have you settled in comfortably?”

  “Of course, thank you, my lady. Crossley’s servants have made me very comfortable. It is kind of you to ask.”

  “Not at all,” she replied with a smile. “I hadn’t realized you would be attending our gathering this week. Are you passing through on your way to your estate?”

  “Crossley isn’t exactly on the way to Glenhaven, my lady. I came expressly to attend Lady Crossley’s congenial gathering.”

  “How lovely,” she answered. Ash couldn’t tell from his position if she were expressing genuine delight at his presence or if she was merely being polite. “My apologies, my lord, geography doesn’t like to stick in my head unless I’m actually looking at a map when I’m told about a place.”

  “Do you read maps, then?”

  Ashford watched as pink rose in her cheeks, but he wasn’t certain if it was dismay or embarrassment causing the flush.

  “I do, yes. I’ve always found them enticing. I haven’t been many places, but I still love looking at maps and imagining what things might be like in other places.”

  “That’s an unusual hobby for a young lady, my dear,” Bertram stated in a slightly censorious tone before offering, “If you’d like, if Crossley has the right maps, I can show you where my estate is.”

  “I’m certain his lordship has an excellent collection of maps, so I would enjoy that if it wouldn’t be too much bother.”

  “You could never be a bother, my lady,” Bertram replied in a voice that sounded rather oily to Ashford’s ears but seemed to please the lady in question before she moved on to greeting the newest arrivals to the room.

  It seemed many more guests had arrived since teatime. The room was filling up. Ash hadn’t thought to ask Crossley how many they were expecting, but he suspected the house would be quite full. His gaze swept the room once more, and he realized he had been mistaken to question the countess’ decisions in her guest list. The young ladies he had thought were unaccompanied were clearly being overseen by stern chaperones. Perhaps the older ladies had been resting from their travels during tea. It was a good lesson for him to learn.

  “I’m dismayed to realize the Crossleys keep such low company as to have you in their home.”

  Ash recognized the insulting voice and didn’t bother turning to face Lord Bertram. The man was beneath his notice, so Ash hadn’t kept track of his movements through the room and was a little surprised he would bother speaking to him.

  “The same could be said about you, my lord.” Ash kept his voice low and his facial expression as pleasant as possible, but even he could hear the disdain in his tone. “But I wonder if you were even invited. I, myself, received a written invitation.”

  He knew he had scored a direct hit when the viscount sputtered to come up with a response. Ash wondered why the Crossleys hadn’t declined the man their hospitality, but he supposed the nobility would need a very solid reason to do something like that to one of their own. And that was probably what the bounder had been counting on when he turned up uninvited upon their doorstep.

  “What are you after Bertram?”

  “Your downfall, as always,” the man replied almost sweetly. Ash had to appreciate the despicable man’s honesty, if nothing else.

  “You do realize I never did anything to harm you, do you not? Your father put his property up for sale. I bought it. It was a transaction that had little or nothing to do with you.”

  “And yet I am harmed, Northcott. And it is all your fault.”

  The viscount’s voice had begun to rise. Ash didn’t wish for this foolish situation to become fodder for the gossips.

  “Do contain yourself, Bertram. There is no call for causing a scene in Lady Crossley’s salon.”

  “I think everyone ought to know what sort of man you are, Northcott.” The viscount sneered but did lower the volume of his voice, as though realizing he would not be the winner in a confrontation in that environment.

  Ash watched with a frown as the man sauntered away. He wondered if Lord Bertram’s vendetta against him was the reason for his presence at the house party. Ash tried not to be exceedingly arrogant or think that he was the center of all activities, but in this case, it seemed to be a possibility. He wondered if he ought to warn Crossley of the potential for trouble. He gave his head a slight shake and decided against it for the time being. He didn’t really feel like explaining the entire mess to the earl, and he earnestly hoped he was wrong.

  He then watched in dismay as Lord Bertram sidled up next to Lady Vigilia once more, just as Lady Crossley announced that they were to go in to supper. Vigilia’s hesitation was so minute that Ash wondered if it was only wishful thinking on his part. With a slight smile, she put her hand on Bertram’s arm and allowed him to escort her into the dining room.

  Unclenching his teeth, Ashford turned to the nearest young woman and offered his arm with what he hoped was a pleasant smile. It must have worked because she was suddenly simpering and giggling, making Ash’s jaw clench once more.

  ~~~

  Vicky contained her sigh and the roll her eyes wanted to make when Lord Bertram offered his escort into supper. This house party was not going to accomplish its purpose in finding her a suitable husband if she had to be in his company all the time. He was most certainly not on The List.

  Vicky allowed her mind to drift to the gales of laughter and vast amount of amusement she and Georgia had enjoyed in the preceding few weeks as they had compiled her list of potential husbands. This made the prospect of spending t
he evening in company with Lord Bertram a little more palatable. Besides him, every gentleman present was on the list, with the possible exception of Ashford Northcott, but that rather went without needing to even be thought. There were two weeks before them. Vicky assured herself that she could manage to tolerate the man for one evening. Surely, he wouldn’t try to monopolize her the entire time.

  Then Vicky recalled Georgia’s admonition.

  “Don’t allow it to appear that you have a preference for any particular gentleman until you’re certain that you do, in fact, have a preference, as some gentlemen might be discouraged from pursuing you and choose instead another one of our guests.”

  At the time, Vicky had laughed and asked, “How many matches are you hoping to make during this party?”

  Georgia had merely shrugged and grinned, not looking in the least repentant. “We have chosen our guest list very well. Every single person on it is delightful. I would be surprised to find there weren’t at least a couple matches made.”

  “Why Georgia Horton, you’ve turned into an interfering biddy.”

  “That’s Lady Crossley, I’ll remind you,” Georgia had replied with a feigned sniff of disdain before bursting into giggles again. “It’s all in good taste, I can assure you. Or rather Crossley assured me I am not overstepping any proprieties. And since we’ve chosen our guest list so carefully, we needn’t be concerned about any bad matches taking place.”

  Vicky had hugged her friend as they laughed together. “Thank you for doing this,” she had finally said.

  “No thanks required. I’m looking forward to having a house full of company. It will finally truly feel like home.”

  Remembering that conversation as they strolled toward the dining room made Vicky’s stomach clench with a case of nerves. She certainly didn’t want anyone to think she had a preference for Lord Bertram. Nor would she want him to match up with anyone else at the party. She didn’t have anything specific against the man that she could explain, but she had the strangest feeling about him. She always felt defensive or apprehensive in his company, even though she could never explain why. Vicky resolved that she would speak to Georgia about it as soon as possible. She should have accepted her hostess’ offer of doing something about Bertram as soon as they had noticed, she realized.

  With a mental shrug, Vicky accepted there was nothing that could be done about the situation at the moment. It was one evening. And if Crossley asked Lord Bertram to leave, then none of it would matter anyhow, so she resolved to make the best of the awkward situation.

  Because they were being less than formal on the country estate, Georgia hadn’t assigned seating that evening, so Vicky knew she would be sitting with Bertram for the duration of the meal and didn’t demure as he pulled her seat out to assist her when they finally reached the table. The table quickly filled up and Vicky could see that, perhaps out of habit, everyone had sat in the usual way, almost as though it had been arranged. Almost every seat was alternating gentleman to lady. Except that their numbers were out slightly due to Lord Bertram. Lord Clifton looked disconcerted for the briefest moment to find himself seated next to Lord Crossley at the head of the table.

  “I wanted to speak with you on a matter of some importance,” Lord Bertram said, keeping his voice low so Vicky had to lean closer to hear him over the rustle of movement as everyone settled in and conversations rose up around them.

  Vicky blinked, trying to think how to respond to such a strange statement from the odd man. “What is it pertaining to?”

  “Northcott.”

  She should have had better self control, but Vicky couldn’t prevent her eyes from flickering over in Mr. Ashford Northcott’s direction. As luck did not seem to be in her favour, the man was watching her at just that moment. Heat suffused her, and Vicky wished she could climb under the table and ride out the evening. Why did she have to be forever embarrassed before that particular man, she demanded of herself as she stifled her sigh and turned her attention back to Lord Bertram.

  “I don’t think I care to hear anything about Mr. Northcott,” she replied with a polite smile, hoping to prevent a scene, as the man seemed quite intent on the subject.

  “It’s terribly important,” he insisted, staring at her earnestly.

  “Well then, go ahead and tell me,” she replied, making him glance around furtively, much to Vicky’s disgust. While she would admit she wasn’t the best at being covert, for someone who insisted they had important, secret information, he wasn’t at all skilled at subterfuge.

  “It cannot be said in company,” he complained.

  “Well, I shan’t be meeting you in secret,” Vicky countered, making him rear back as though she had insulted him.

  “Of course not,” he replied in a sulky tone.

  Vicky allowed some silence to stretch between them before she relented. “After supper, while the guests are mingling, I’m sure we should be able to talk without drawing attention to ourselves but while still remaining in company.”

  “Thank you, my lady. I shall look forward to it.”

  I shan’t, she thought with a tightening of her lips as she turned to address the guests to her right.

  The remainder of the meal passed in a bit of a blur. Vicky managed to eat enough not to draw attention to herself but couldn’t enjoy the, no doubt, excellent repast, as her stomach was clenched with nerves over whatever Lord Bertram might have to say to her.

  Why, out of the several perfectly acceptable, handsome, and lovely gentlemen invited to the house party, did she have to be preoccupied with the two worst candidates? Lord Bertram hadn’t even been invited, and now he was clearly intent on stirring up trouble. Vicky was well aware that for some strange reason Mr. Ashford Northcott was Georgia’s favorite choice for Vicky’s future, but Vicky had her own reasons to wish for nearly anyone but him. And those were the two occupying her thoughts and time. If she weren’t so used to being the easy going middle daughter, it would be enough to drive her mad. As it was, she was seriously thinking about causing a scene.

  That thought brought a temporary relief to her mind as amusement flooded her. As if she would cause a scene. It had been her self-appointed assignment to be the go-between, the peace maker, the calmest sister in her household while growing up. Being so close in age with her two older sisters, she wasn’t the middle of them but had always been the calm one when they were little girls. And then there was a gap between Vicky and the little sisters, Felicity and Graciela. Vicky had always felt the need to bridge that gap between big sisters and little sisters. It had never felt like a burden before. But in this moment, her instinctive urge to stay calm and not put herself first was weighing on her and warring with her desire to forge her own destiny, instead of waiting for it to choose her.

  She could feel Ashford’s gaze periodically throughout the seemingly interminable supper, despite how fanciful that was. How could one feel someone’s gaze? But every once in a while, when she had that prickling sensation on her neck, she would turn her eyes or head slightly and find that he was, in fact, watching her. Or he quickly averted his head and she didn’t quite catch him in the act, but she was left to suspect that he had been observing her. It was both unnerving and somewhat gratifying.

  Vicky considered herself to be beyond ridiculous. She should have insisted that he not be invited to the house party. How was she supposed to seriously consider other gentleman when he was present? She had no intention of accepting him even if he were to offer for her, but with her attraction to him, Vicky didn’t know how she would be able to accept someone else.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out very slowly so as to not be heard sighing, Vicky refocused her attention as dessert was being served. She had nearly made it through the meal. And no one would even know that she had been in the least uncomfortable. She had managed to have conversations with everyone within polite speaking distance at the table without seeming to single out any one person. If anyone thought to ask her what had been discussed,
Vicky would sadly be unable to rightfully say, but she knew her skills at conversation had not failed her.

  Once again, the prickle on her neck brought her eyes to encounter Ashford’s grey gaze. His was even more searching than usual this time. A shiver began at the base of her spine that required Vicky’s considerable effort to prevent it from progressing. She rather thought it would have been enjoyable, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her. Vicky frowned slightly at him, unsure of why he would continue to watch her.

  Surely, it can’t be due to his continued interest in Rosabel, she thought with disgust as she turned away from him once more. Some kind souls periodically would remark to Vicky about her resemblance to her beautiful older sister, but Vicky, despite her honest evaluation of herself in the mirror, knew it was a stretch to consider her to be in the same ranks as Rosabel. So surely, the man wouldn’t be staring at her for that reason, would he? The thought was lowering until she turned her attention fully elsewhere.

  A few bites of the sweet biscuits and barberry ice was enough to restore her equilibrium, and Vicky felt almost prepared for the rest of the evening when Georgia stood to escort the ladies from the room to leave the gentlemen to their port.

  “Don’t forget,” Lord Bertram murmured to her as she stood up to leave.

  Vicky stiffened but didn’t bother responding or even glancing at him. It took an effort to keep her pace sedate. She didn’t want to appear that she was rushing away, even though the impulse was there to run all the way home to Glendale. She suddenly longed for her old life in the schoolroom.

  With a shake of her head and bracing her shoulders, Vicky brought herself to task. Wishing for something so foolish would never make it so. She needed to get on with the tasks of adulthood. She had a good friend helping her. The circumstances could hardly be more favourable. If there were a couple little aspects that were less than ideal, that was hardly something to run home crying about. She needed to gird her loins and get on with it.