A Lady's Favor (2 page)

Mama stopped suddenly and glared at her. “I have one daughter, Bianca, and I will see her well settled in a good situation. I rose my family’s status through marriage to your father, and you will do the same. The placement of your brothers depends upon it. Unless and until a better catch shows an interest, you will
absolutely
be thrown after Lord Strapshire, and we will praise the heavens together for his attention. Stop falling prey to such idle fantasies as
love matches
and
your feelings
and center your mind on the aspects of a match that truly matter—money and position.”

Bianca opened her mouth to respond to this absolutely ridiculous bit of advice, but Mama yanked her forward, opened the door with one hand and fairly pushed Bianca into the room. She stumbled a few steps before coming to a stop. Several sets of eyes turned to look at her, but it was those blasted green ones that made her clench her jaw.

Lord Strapshire crossed the room toward her. He must have missed her a great deal in the four minutes she had been absent. She could still call him handsome, but the pronouncement was no longer a compliment. She would rather he be considerate instead of handsome, and interested in topics other than his own inflated sense of grandness.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Davidson?” he asked in a low voice, but it was still loud enough that everyone in the room could hear him. “It shall be our third dance of the night, you know.” He winked as though prompting her to look for the hidden meaning in his words, but she was well aware that his particular attention was meant to show everyone where his intentions lay. Three dances in one evening was practically an engagement in this part of England—even at a dinner party instead of a ball. Especially if the man doing the asking was wealthy, titled, and handsome, it seemed.

Bianca clasped her hands in front of her and steeled her confidence. Mama was entitled to her opinions and her narrow-minded expectations, but it was
Bianca’s
future, and she would not be pushed into an intolerable situation. Since nothing else had worked so far, she would have to be bold. “I would not care to dance,” she said evenly. A shared gasp filled the space around her. “If you’ll excuse—”

“Nonsense,” he said with a laugh. He stepped forward and took her clasped hands in both of his. He began leading her to the portion of the room where the furniture had been moved to allow dancing.

She tried to pull her hands away. A woman had every right to accept or reject her dance partner, and since Bianca’s attention had been dominated by him all evening, it was within reason for her to mingle with her other guests.

“Lord Strapshire,” she said, trying to keep the contempt from her voice. “I need to be attentive to my other guests.”

Instead of responding, he pulled her toward him and then swung her around until he could put one hand on her waist and draw her closer to him. Her hands fell on his shoulder and his waist if for no other reason than to steady herself.

“This is not just any dance,” he said, still grinning his cocky half-grin. “This is a waltz with
me
, and we are the picture of beauty and grace—your green dress notwithstanding. I do think the color detracts from the green of my eyes.”

She belatedly noted that the opening measure and positions of the dancers indeed indicated a waltz. She opened her mouth to protest even more ardently, but he pulled her into the steps. His breath smelled like pickles, and they hadn’t even eaten pickles with dinner!

He raised his eyebrows at her. “I do, however, love this coy, country girl ruse you are playing. I find it very engaging.”

“It is not meant to be engaging,” Bianca said, certain her mother would have her head for this behavior. “While I am flattered by your attention, I do not feel you and I are well suited.”

He laughed and spun them around so fast that it took a moment for her to recover from the dizziness. “Oh, I am entranced!” he said, then laughed again.

She tried to pull away but he only held her tighter. “I. Do. Not. Desire. Your. Attention. Lord Strapshire,” she said through her teeth.

“Of course you do,” he said, still smiling. He looked at her with those green eyes that suddenly resembled pond scum more than emeralds. “Everyone desires my attention, and your dark hair perfectly complements my golden locks. You are also just the right height and figure to complement my own physicality. Why, we shall have artists clamoring to paint our portrait for the very sake of the beauty we create just by being in one another’s company. Think of how handsome our children shall be.”

Perhaps other girls would swoon over his compliments. Instead, Bianca was all the more desperate to put an end to this. She’d appreciated the flattery in the beginning, until she realized that all he wanted and all he saw was a pretty face. Truly Mama could not want Bianca saddled with such a man. No man was as arrogant and tedious as this one, and though Bianca did not want to upset her mother, she would not sacrifice her own happiness for Mama’s pride.

“Lord Strapshire,” she said calmly and evenly as they continued to waltz across the small space. A few more couples were attempting the dance, though there was not enough room for them, which resulted in a great deal of bumping and “Beg your pardon.” It also served to keep her conversation with Lord Strapshire private as there was too much commotion for anyone to be overly attentive to them.

“I mean no disrespect, Lord Strapshire, but I am trying to be very clear that I do not desire your attention. I am sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” he said, giving her a saucy wag of his eyebrows. “Do continue this role of unwilling damsel. I love it. Only wear blue next time. Blue complements my eyes so well.”

Bianca clenched her teeth and then caught her mother’s look from where she stood across the room. Mama’s expression was concerned, but not for the right reasons, Bianca was sure. She would be worried Bianca was being rude, not that Lord Strapshire was.

As they skirted the dance area, Bianca looked from one face to another in the small crowd: friends, neighbors, people she had known all her life. Yet not one of them would understand why she would
not
want the attention of a man like Lord Strapshire. Any other girl in this village, let alone this room, would be out of their minds with jubilation were his interest directed to them. It was bad luck for everyone that he had set his sights on one woman who could never,
ever
be happy at his side.

Bianca needed a plan. A scheme that would free her of Lord Strapshire’s attention without sending her mother into fits. It was just then that she met a particular set of eyes that she usually avoided.

Mathew Hensley.

He might be her only hope.

TWO

The morning after the dinner party at the Davidsons’ home, Mathew Hensley was coming in from an early hunt—a brace of geese in the hands of his man—when he saw the carriage outside his home and stopped in his tracks. He blinked, but the scene before him did not change. It was the Davidsons’ carriage; he knew it well from his efforts to avoid it these last years.

He replayed the moment last evening when Miss Bianca Davidson’s eyes had met his. He’d seen something there, a kind of desperate decision being made, and his heart rate had increased then just as seeing her family carriage increased it now. He had wondered about that look. Miss Davidson usually avoided him, but even so he hadn’t expected she would follow the unexpected look with an even more unexpected call. He had assumed that moment of connection would be yet one more thing about that woman that would haunt him.

“I shall leave you to it,” he said to the servant who had attended him on the morning’s hunt. He was already brushing his hair into place with his fingers as he quickened his steps toward the house. He entered the back door, called for his valet, and took the servants’ stairs to his bedchamber. Ambrose was soon at his side.

“I need to repair my presentation,” Mathew said as soon as he entered his room. He was already halfway out of his coat, which Ambrose helped to fully remove. Mathew bent over to pull at one boot while hopping on the other foot. He realized too late that the bottoms of his boots were caked with mud. “Blast,” he growled as he held up his mud-covered hands and headed toward the basin.

“All is well,” the ever-calm valet said as he fetched a cloth from the basin before Mathew could reach it.

“How long has Miss Davidson been waiting on me?” Mathew asked as he took the wet cloth from Ambrose and cleaned his hands.

Ambrose lifted his eyebrows. “How do you know it is
Miss
Davidson?”

Mathew paused. How
did
he know? Yes, his parents were in London for another fortnight, leaving him the only family at the estate right now, but why did he assume it was
Miss
Davidson paying him a visit? And yet he did know. Her look from last night made him absolutely certain. “I just know,” Mathew said, avoiding his valet’s curious look. “How long has she been here?”

“Nearly half an hour.” Ambrose took the soiled cloth and handed Mathew a clean coat fit for a morning visit. “She was told you might be some time, but she said she would wait.”

Half an hour
, Mathew repeated in his head, even more anxious. There must be some importance to her being here if she was willing to wait so long.

Ambrose cleared his throat delicately. “Is this about the . . . uh, the Incident?”

“We will not talk of that,” Mathew said, but his neck heated up just thinking of that horrible night. He shook his head to dislodge any thoughts that might increase his anxiety. He would not talk of it, nor think of it. He wished he could forget it entirely. Even if he
could
forget, however, he felt sure Miss Davidson never would. So why was she here?

Finally, Mathew hurried down the stairs and into the drawing room without being announced by a footman.

Miss Davidson started at his quick entrance and jumped to her feet, immediately fidgeting with the cord of her reticule that she held in both hands. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“Miss Davidson,” he said, bowing slightly. “What a pleasure to see you.”

She held his eyes with her wide blue ones—lovely wide blue ones. He hadn’t been near enough to admire them up close like this before, though he had admired them plenty from an appropriate distance. “Mr. Hensley,” she said, dropping a quick curtsey. “I’m very sorry to bother you.”

“You are not bothering me, Miss Davidson.”

She looked up at him again, and the moment was held between them like a breath until she looked away—turned away, in fact—and walked toward the window.

“I’m afraid you will not think as much after I tell you why I’ve come.”

“I doubt that,” he said, watching the way her skirts swayed with her steps.

She stopped in front of the window and took a deep breath, as though preparing herself for something disagreeable. “I promised myself I would never take you up on your offer to return the favor I . . . granted all those years ago.”

The embarrassment struck quick and sharp. Mathew looked at the floor and refused to let the images haunt him. She’d been so young, only twelve or thirteen years of age. She’d grown into a woman since then.

She continued before he had thought of anything to say. “However, I find myself in a situation from which I cannot free myself.”

When she turned to face him, he noticed that the blue of her eyes was almost the exact shade of the curtains his mother had chosen for this room.

“And you need my help,” he said, still fighting off humiliating memories of the situation he had been when they had first met. What would he have done if she’d run away that day instead of agreeing to help him? How would he have freed himself?

She nodded.

“I would like nothing more than to repay the favor I owe you,” he said with absolute honesty. He swallowed, feeling as though he should offer an apology; he’d never thought the opportunity to do so would present itself. “When I think of that day—”

She lifted a gloved hand, her palm stopping his words. “We will not speak of it,” she said, shaking her head, her cheeks pink with remembered embarrassment.

He sighed in relief and nodded his agreement. At least he had tried. “What can I do for you? What is your predicament?”

Her lips thinned and her jaw tightened. “My predicament is a pompous buffoon who will not hear my objections to his suit and a mother who can only see a pretty face, a silly title, and a fat billfold.”

Mathew held back a smile at her candor. He had thought she looked ill at ease last night, but word had circulated around Brookborrow these last few weeks that Miss Davidson and Lord Strapshire were perfectly suited for one another. Mathew’s mother had asked him to write to her in London if he heard anything about an official engagement while she was away. It was a smart match, his mother had said, and Mrs. Davidson was fortunate to have such a man take interest in her daughter. Mathew had ignored his pangs of jealousy toward the other man, and therefore felt relief at Miss Davidson’s similar judgment of the man’s character.

“Lord Strapshire and I were at Oxford together for a time,” Mathew said, “though I’m sure he wouldn’t remember it. I believe he and his reflection were rather taken with one another to the point where few other people were equal to his notice.”

A smile quirked at the side of her mouth, but she looked at the rug as though to hide it.

“So, how might I help you?” Mathew asked again.

She took another fortifying breath. “I can barely form the words of my request,” she said, shaking her head. “But . . .” She took yet another breath, then opened her mouth and let the words tumble as though released from a pen. “Lord Strapshire is convinced that he and I will make a good match. Everyone seems to agree, and the more I resist, the more he enjoys the chase, if you could call it that. I have done what I can to spurn his interest, but he is not to be thwarted and now my mother has made it very clear that she expects me to accept his attention and be glad for it for the good of my brothers. The idea makes me want to vomit.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “Forgive me, I should not have spoken so crassly.”