Always the Wallflower (Never the Bride Book 5)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  No other words were necessary, but a weight was lifted from his shoulders. The duke would not press him for more information.

  “—and would you believe it,” said a gentleman whom Edward did not know but was almost sure was a Mr. Kendal, “after ten minutes of speaking with her, I watched as the gentleman could still not persuade her to dance with him! Eventually, he gave her up as a bad job! It was only as a jest to tease her anyway, but he had to leave her a wallflower!”

  He collapsed into laughter, and a few gentlemen joined him, but Edward could not bring himself to move or speak.

  It was entirely possible this Mr. Kendal was speaking about someone other than Letty. There must be plenty of women, he told himself, who did not wish to dance with Mr. Kendal and his acquaintances.

  And yet, he could not help but suspect…

  “A wallflower is not a kind term,” said Mercia calmly, and Edward felt gratitude to him for changing the tone of the conversation. “Nor is it kind to tease someone and pretend to wish to dance with them when one does not.”

  “Well, perhaps not,” said the gentleman with the huge mustache, “but sometimes it is the most accurate way to describe someone—Lady Letitia Cavendish, now!”

  Edward’s heart was cold, but his hands were burning. To hear her name spat out as a joke around a table was intolerable. He had to say something.

  His tongue was paralyzed as more gentlemen laughed.

  But Mercia’s was not. “Lady Letitia Cavendish is a lovely young lady, far lovelier than many I am forced to meet, and—”

  Braedon cut in. “That is all well and good, but at the same time, you cannot deny she is the epitome of a wallflower.”

  “I have never seen anyone want to dance with her,” said another gentleman with a smirk.

  It was the smirk that pushed him over the edge.

  “I think you are fortunate,” said Edward quietly, “that her cousin, Montague Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire, is not here to listen to you speak of his favorite cousin in such a way.”

  A few looked abashed, but the conversation was not over.

  “Wynn, my good man,” said Braedon with a hiccup, “’tis intended as no offense when one says how things are.”

  “I have seen the Lady Letitia dance, and dance well,” Axwick said in his deep calm voice. “I hope to see her dance again at my ball next week, at which I hope you will all join me. Mercia, are you engaged that evening?”

  “I am not,” said Mercia quickly, “and my wife and I are honored by your invitation. I have heard through the gossips that you have engaged St. James’s court musicians. Is that true?”

  Edward looked down. His hands had balled into fists, and he forced himself to release them. The conversation had moved on, thanks to Axwick and Mercia, and hopefully, it would not be too long before he could escape—or perhaps he could be bold and see if he could creep into Letty’s room again.

  “I do not believe it—no one would be foolish enough to actually stand up with Lady Letitia!” Mr. Kendal threw back his head to drain his glass and slammed it down to be met with silence around the table.

  Edward rose to his feet. “I was.”

  Edward eyed Mr. Kendal.

  “Oh, come on now, sir,” he said jovially.

  “Your jest is no longer diverting, Kendal,” Braedon said quietly. “You have made your observation, now drop it.”

  “I only say what we are all thinking!” Mr. Kendal grinned at Edward, who felt strongly inclined to give him the same treatment as Mr. Jarvis. “Well, you are a fool then, Wynn, a fool to bother with her. Are you not interested in tupping rather than dancing? I would bet twenty guineas—no, fifty guineas that no man would wish to tup your Lady Letitia!”

  Even though the table was broad, Edward lunged—and found himself held back again, this time by Axwick.

  “No,” Axwick murmured. “He is not worth your effort.”

  But Edward did not care, he wanted to hurt Mr. Kendal, make him feel the pain Letty did whenever she was abandoned at the side of a room, waiting for someone to take pity on her and take her on their arm.

  God’s teeth, that such a man could sit there and laugh at him, at her—at Letty! Edward’s blood was boiling, and he struggled against Axwick’s grip.

  “Let me go,” he hissed. “No man deserves to be unmarked after saying such things about—”

  The sound of a heavy chair being pushed back made him stop. Braedon had risen to his feet, and there was no mirth in his face.

  “Marsh,” he said calmly, and the butler moved to his side. “I need your assistance.”

  “And I am more than willing to give it,” said Marsh calmly. “Despite my ruined linens.”

  There was an incredible coldness in Braedon’s face as he turned to face the table. “Mr. Kendal is in drink and is therefore not fit to sit at my table. Please help the gentlemen into a carriage and send a footman to see him home safely.”

  Mr. Kendal’s mouth fell open.

  He looked around the table for support, but not a single gentleman met his eye none save Edward, who glared, pulse racing, heart thundering in his chest.

  “Fine,” spat Mr. Kendal, throwing down his napkin and rising to his feet.

  A pair of footmen appeared, marching him out of the room. The butler closed the door behind them, but the tension remained.

  “Thank you,” Edward said curtly to his host.

  Braedon nodded briefly, and the two gentlemen sat down.

  There was a moment of silence, broken by the mustached gentleman.

  “Well, I think it is time for me to call it a night,” he said awkwardly, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your hospitality, Viscount Braedon, it is much appreciated. I am sure my wife and I would be pleased to host you ourselves in the coming weeks.”

  A few other gentlemen gratefully took this as their time to depart, and within minutes, Edward was left at the table with his host, Mercia, and Axwick.

  Mercia cleared his throat. “Wynn, I have no wish to offend you, and I have a great regard for Lady Letitia—but I do not understand your pointed defense of her.”

  Edward gripped the arms of his chair, trying to control his temper. Why could no one leave her alone? No wonder she felt so uncomfortable being introduced to him.

  “I have a…a regard for Lady Letitia,” he said stiffly. “And I do not like gossip, particularly when it is cruel.”

  “I think we would agree with you on those latter two points,” Mercia said mildly. “But I am intrigued to better understand your regard for her. If you think to wed her, I urge you to reconsider. Her father would never permit a union between you.”

  Edward’s temper had only just begun to recede, and the slight insult was enough to prick it once more. “How dare you—why would he never permit such a thing? Not that…if I was interested, I mean.”

  Curse it, why could he not hide his emotions when it came to Letty? In every other quarter of his life, he could control himself.

  Beside him, Axwick was laughing. “Wynn, she is a Cavendish! They are an incredibly wealthy family, full of pride and self-importance. Monty is different, of course, but his uncle, Letitia’s father, is far too aware of his own worth.”

  Edward swallowed. He had not known much about the Cavendish family; they were far too well-bred to associate with the Wynns when he had been young.

  “Well, she is the junior branch,” he said awkwardly, suddenly aware that he was alone in a room with two dukes and a more senior viscount. “At least, that is my understanding.”

  Braedon sighed. “Yes, but you would not know that by the way her father acts. He seems utterly convinced the line should have gone to him and not to Devonshire. Mark my words, no one but an earl will be good enough for little Letitia.”

  Edward sat in stunned silence.

  Axwick appeared to sense his discomfort. “Well, I can understand his concern. My little one is but a few months old, and I have already received two letters from mamas of little girls seekin
g an alliance!”

  Braedon guffawed, and Mercia’s eyes widened. “No, surely not!”

  “On my honor!” Axwick chuckled. “I know it is strange, but my Tabitha actually took it as a great compliment, although God knows how to respond to such letters. My mother once said…”

  Edward’s mind was utterly overwhelmed with his companions’ words.

  He had not seriously considered marrying Letty; he had not considered marrying anyone.

  But to be told in such an abrupt fashion that he would not stand a chance in convincing Letty’s father, he suddenly found himself wanting to impress him, wanting to be good enough.

  It was childish, and it was contrary, but that was the sort of man he was.

  Why was Letitia such a bewitching woman, such a puzzle and a challenge, even when she was not trying to be?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Smoothing down her gown did not work, nor did closing her eyes and breathing slowly.

  Letitia opened her eyes and swallowed. Panic fluttered in her stomach, making it almost impossible to stand still. Her hands were shaking.

  Why was it like this every time? She should be accustomed to it, but every time she was about to walk into a room of strangers, she was overwhelmed.

  She looked up at the night sky. Stars were visible through the clouds and smog. It must be almost eight o’clock, and the invitation for Miss Ashbrooke’s card party had indicated seven.

  Laughter poured out of the open front door. Its abruptness made Letitia jump and pull her pelisse around her more tightly.

  You are being ridiculous, she told herself. You probably know half the people in that card party, and as it is, there will be no dancing. Smile and chatter with them for a few hours.

  Lying to herself had never been that easy, and even the hope Edward may be inside was not enough to take those last few steps to the doorway.

  Edward. He had not been far from her mind since their last meeting three days ago. Why had he stayed away?

  The thought was painful, and Letitia pushed it away.

  But despite her desperation, Letitia was too terrified to move forward, too absorbed in her own hopes and fears to move back.

  If Edward were there, what would he say to her? What emotions would be stirred in her own heart when she saw her betrothed across a crowded room?

  How will they manage to speak without revealing their passion and devotion?

  Letitia smiled. Or even worse, what if Edward were not in there, what if he had not been invited?

  How was she to endure another evening without him?

  “Careful, miss!”

  Letitia gasped as someone brushed past her as they entered Miss Ashbrooke’s card party. The gentleman glanced back at her, and she felt her cheeks flush.

  Was she always to be ignored save for a curious glance?

  The gentleman squinted, struggling to see her in the gloom of the evening, and Letitia turned her head.

  When she turned back to look into the bright glare of the open doorway, he was gone.

  She sighed, watching her breath blossom into the night. This was madness, and if she could not summon up the courage to walk into a card party alone, she should go home.

  Her fingers tightened on her invitation. She was not going to be a wallflower for the rest of her life.

  Swallowing painfully, she stepped forward and walked through the door to see a footman waiting for her invitation.

  “My lady,” he murmured with a bow and gestured that she was to enter.

  It took only ten seconds to see her hopes for a quiet card party would be disappointed. Miss Ashbrooke had promised her an intimate evening with a few close friends. A loud cheer went up in a room to her left as the door opened, and a billowing cloud of cigar smoke blossomed out in the hallway.

  Letitia coughed, waving her hand before her to dispel the smoke from her stinging eyes and bumped into a gentleman.

  “Watch out there!” he said roughly, shoving her back, so she almost lost her footing.

  “I-I do apologize,” Letitia stammered. Now the smoke had cleared, she could see the hallway was as packed as the card rooms seemed to be. Ladies promenaded up and down as though at Brighton taking the waters, with gentlemen admiring them.

  Stumbling down the corridor, another door was open, but shouting cheers echoed out of it, and she wandered to an opposite door, which she wrenched open.

  Music blasted her ears, and there was hysterical laughter and the sound of a glass smashing on the floor.

  Letitia stepped back into the corridor and leaned against the wall, trying to fight down nausea.

  This was not what she wanted at all. Music would mean there was dancing. She did not want to be left out again. Could she not attend one party this Season without the pressure of being forced to dance?

  “What are you doing here, then?” A gentleman she did not recognize leered. “Not lost, are you my sweet? I am sure I can find you a home if you want one.”

  Letitia shrank away but could not escape the disgusting fumes of liquor pouring from the gentleman.

  “N-No,” she managed, “I am quite well, thank you, I-I do not need—”

  “You look like you could do with a friend.” He grinned, and Letitia’s stomach dropped. “I could be your friend.”

  Unable to think what to say, she glanced back into the room with the dancing—and saw a flash of almost midnight black hair.

  Edward.

  Without saying another word, she darted into the room.

  Someone waved from the corner—it was Mariah, seated as always with a book in her lap.

  But Letitia wanted Edward. No one else had hair in that precise shade. Her eyes darted around the room, desperate to find him.

  There were four couples dancing in a square, and one of them stared in confusion.

  “Lost, child?” one of them shouted.

  But Letitia was not lost.

  Without heeding the shout or any of the curious gazes now following her, she stepped across the room toward the tall gentleman with dark brown eyes who was a beacon of safety in the wilderness of the party.

  “Ed—Viscount Wynn!”

  She had not intended to speak his name aloud. And she knew people were watching—even wallflowers had to protect their reputations.

  But as his eyes lifted and met hers, Letitia’s spirits rose immediately. How was it possible that he cared for her? Of all the young ladies he had met this Season, it had been she with whom he had fallen in love.

  Well. Perhaps he had not spoken those words exactly, but he had made love to her, and told her so—told her that it was different somehow.

  “I have bedded other women. I have not made love to them. I want to make love to you.”

  If that was not proof of his affection, what was? And because he had taken her innocence, were they not betrothed? Hadn’t he suggested it?

  She reacted instinctively. He was smiling a little woodenly when she reached out and took his hands in hers.

  She could not help but smile. “Shall we stand up for the next dance?”

  His hands were so warm and strong. She felt safer now than she ever had.

  There was a polite cough, but it did not come from Edward. Letitia glanced to her left to see a beautiful young woman standing between her and Edward—a woman who had evidently been standing there the entire time, but Letitia obliviously ignored.

  Letitia blinked. The woman was her age, perhaps a little younger, with carefully curled ringlets falling around her eyes and a slightly incredulous smile on her face.

  Heat rushed to Letitia’s cheeks. She had evidently interrupted what was a private conversation, and if the woman’s features were any indication, Letitia was not welcome.

  “Well,” breathed the young lady with a laugh, “I do not believe we have met.”

  Letitia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Furious with herself, she tried to conjure up something, anything.

  “I…uh…”


  The woman glanced at Edward and smiled coquettishly. “Why, Wynn, in all our conversations, you never mentioned you had another lady friend in town. Why do you not introduce me to your…acquaintance?”

  What had she thought she was doing, asking a gentleman to dance—and in public!

  Letitia’s gaze darted to Edward, who was evidently uncomfortable, too. He shifted on his feet, looking between the two young ladies.

  The young lady was still smiling at Edward as though she had him hypnotized, and Letitia tried not to notice her confidence and beauty.

  “She is the heiress of the Honorable Lymington and is worth thirty thousand pounds at the very least! Viscount Wynn is a rake with no heart at all. I would not put it past him to take Miss Lymington into the card room at the Axwick ball if they have one, of course, and win—or woo—most of her money!”

  Were her parents correct? Was Edward no longer interested in her, perhaps never had been, and would continue on with his rakish ways?

  Would he ignore her now, shun her in public?

  How could she have been so stupid to give her innocence to him?

  Edward coughed. “Lady Letitia Cavendish,” he said awkwardly, “may I introduce you to the Lady Antoinette d’Michel.”

  Letitia bobbed a quick curtsey.

  “Lady Antoinette d’Michel, Lady Letitia Cavendish,” Edward said quietly. “Lady Antoinette is my cousin, Lady Letitia, and moved to England after the troubles in France a few years ago. She arrived in London yesterday, and Miss Ashbrooke was kind enough to include her in my invitation.”

  Letitia swallowed. This was the moment when she had to speak. Speak!

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Antoinette,” she managed. “And I am glad to hear you have found entertainment in town with…with your cousin.”

  Cousin, she thought ruefully. If she had been but a sister, another adopted sister perhaps—but cousin. They wed all the time.

  And she was handsome, prodigiously so. Lady Antoinette outshone the rest of the room. Even now, Letitia could feel the gazes of many other gentlemen in the room, moving to the French beauty.

  None were looking at her.