Defying the Earl (18 page)

She still studied the charm when the ginger cat leapt into the window box and startled her so severely she jumped back from the glass as if nothing separated them. The feline settled a haughty pose in front of the velvet tray, obliterating any chance Wilhelmina might further examine the charm. With a disgruntled huff, she spun on her heel and aimed for home.

“So what has you dressed like a dapper?” Jasper strode into the drawing room with Randolph on his heels.

“Indeed.” Randolph circled Valerian, his eyes narrowed to a squint as if assessing his tail coat, pantaloons and Hessians. “Aren’t you afternoonified? Were you to choose a waistcoat with a tad more flourish you’d be sure to shine everyone down. Still, you cut a fine figure.” He rapped Jasper on the shoulder with a brash guffaw. “Good thing we’re not for the same affair or your brother would melt the stays of every female in Hyde Park.”

Valerian cleared his throat, unwilling to allow the two scatter-wits to detract his purpose with their meaningless podsnappery. “I’ve been invited to a small party in honor of Lady Fiona.” He eyed his brother with a look meant to communicate what remained unspoken and Jasper, in a rare flash of insight, did not miss the mark.

“I’ve told Dash more than a few times he’s a regular Beau Brummel but ever since—” An awkward pause filled the space of a few heartbeats before Jasper finished in a hushed tone for Randolph’s benefit. “Valerian’s not one to dine on bachelor fare. We best be on our way.”

“Heed my warning.” He called as Jasper drifted toward the door. “We’re still under the hatches. It’s fine to keep Randolph good company but mind the fact you can’t drink poison and expect the other person to die.”

“No need to worry, Dash, we’re not drinking tonight.” Jasper threw the words over his shoulder as he fell in step with Randolph. “Our evening is dedicated to science.”

At a loss for a response to the befogged reply, Valerian collected his gloves and glanced to the wall clock. It was still too early to make way to the Nobles’ affair although an itchy desire to spend as much time as possible in Wilhelmina’s company forced him to check the time every few minutes, the annoying habit only interrupted by Jasper’s tomfoolery.

What was he doing anyway? True, he’d been out of polite society the last few years and had steered clear of all females since the mortifying embarrassment of Caroline’s public infidelity, but he was the sensible St. David. He was the earl; the son who nursed his father through his final days and labored through endless paperwork and financial chaos to land the earldom on its feet − well, knees, at the least. Kirby Park barely remained upright.

He intended to see it refurbished and re-established as the splendid country estate it once was and always deserved to be. Tenants depended upon him for security while he needed their leases and loyalty. He would shed his father’s damaged reputation and regain respectability without borrowed waistcoats, tri-color embroidery or otherwise. He needed, with dire desperation, to hold his chin high whether in situations of finance or romance.

The latter thought evoked visions of a future designed by eloquence and affluence. A lovely wife and several energetic children.
A future with Wilhelmina
. What was it about the lady? He couldn’t decipher the hold she had on his heart but he knew, deep inside where he kept his emotions locked tight, she’d become important. With her, he was content. At peace. Happy. And it had been so long since he’d allowed the luxury, time spent with Wilhelmina felt like coming home.

He’d be every kind of fool to believe she’d regard him in the same manner after this evening. Tonight, he’d somehow destroy the fragile novelty of Leonard and Fiona’s betrothal and secure his future in the way of Lord Rigby’s imbursement. And for that reason, emotion couldn’t bear on his actions. Wilhelmina, no matter how her smile warmed his heart and kiss touched his soul, could not influence the injudicious action he must perform. Logic shoved desire aside. Whimsy couldn’t matter.

It reminded Wilhelmina of a water globe, this captured vision of blissful happiness. No matter how vigorously one shook the crystal, the participants remained steadfast, the idyllic dream never-ending. Despite she regarded herself a pragmatic thinker, she couldn’t help but be drawn into the natural succession of life and the enticing promise of a love match; a female’s eternal desire of a secure marriage and abundant family – of having a home. She didn’t pause to consider she’d doomed herself to disappointment with the goal. Displayed before her in vivid color was the epitome of success.

Fiona’s excitement was contagious, Wilhelmina’s brief foray into society, enthralling, and she now yearned for the same. Yet she kept this secret close to her heart, unwilling to cause Livie or Aunt Kate concern. She couldn’t bear were her sister to feel unwanted, her aunt unappreciated.

And while she knew she would never recapture the close-knit security of the family she once had before the accident, she believed she could create her own version of happiness that included her sister and aunt but did not impinge on familial obligation. A dearly held dream inspired by independence and the chance to build a life of her own, a home all her own. Once Livie grew stronger, she’d be able to plan an even brighter future, beyond her idle fantasies and insecure wishes. As long as the treatments continued and her sister improved; each link in the chain dependent upon the other.

Yet on the periphery of this dream future, the threat of Livie becoming permanently impaired, her muscles atrophied, hovered. Wilhelmina forced the fear from her mind. A means to realize her truest wish existed. Tonight’s fete was an indulgence, but tomorrow morning she would meet Lady Worsley and embark on another lucrative matchmaking venture.

If only everything was so neatly accomplished. This evening while she readied for the Nobles’ gathering, Livie had appeared pale, more tired than usual. While Wilhelmina and Aunt Kate believed it resulted from to the exertion Dr. Morris demanded during the rigorous daily treatments, her aunt decided to stay in for the evening. The threat of Livie regressing in any manner fortified Wilhelmina’s purpose. Someday she would have a true home; warmth and certainty, her own personal dream and her sister would have the same.

With invigorated determination she turned toward the assembly of twenty people clustered in pockets around the grand drawing room, her eyes skittering with avid interest to each grouping although she’d be the biggest fool to deny she didn’t search for Dashwood. Would he attend this evening? Was he invited? She remained unsure of his association with Leonard considering the actions of the past few weeks.

As if hoping to conjure the wish, she’d dressed in her finest eveningwear, a primrose-colored crepe frock over white satin, finished round with a border of blond tulle and gossamer silk. The dress was new and a terrible indulgence, but with Aunt Kate’s insistence and her own temptation, she’d purchased the design. A slight smile escaped at her wise decision, at ease among the guests.

The interior of the room set the tone of the affair as one of discerning respectability and impeccable taste. Velvet curtains in lush navy bracketed diamond-paned windows. The walls, done in silk paper patterned in pale blue and gold, stretched toward a high-pitched ceiling bordered by intricately carved crown molding in a floral design. Two walls supported grand bookcases, their shelves decorated with leathered tomes and delicate adornments, while another corner housed a cozy mahogany writing desk. A trio of musicians prepared nearby. The furthest wall possessed a huge hearth and mantle, atop which sat a crystal vase full of blush roses, lilies and other ornate hothouse flowers. The artwork displayed above the fireplace, likely chosen with exquisite care, depicted a young man atop his white steed poised on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean and the sky beyond.

The painting captured Wilhelmina’s interest. Did the artist wish to portray the man in thoughtful consideration and the immense opportunity of the future before him, or had the man ventured to the edge of the precipice in humbling desolation, his life a disappointment, his future bleak?

No time was left to deliberate the matter. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked to awareness, the timber of Valerian’s cordial greeting across the room taking immediate possession of her attention. A thrill shot through her pulse, igniting an irrepressible desire to smile despite he stood across the room talking amiably with Lord and Lady Nobles.

She chided her irrational emotions. It wasn’t as though he’d anticipated seeing her as much as she. What a foolish fancy. She told herself to look elsewhere but her heart ignored the advice.

She regarded his profile from afar as her stomach rioted with unexplainable exuberance. He wore an impeccable ensemble, a navy blue waistcoat fitted so perfectly across his broad shoulders she recalled the heat of his exquisite embrace, the splendid strength of his arms around her in the wine cellar. His legs were cased in the smoothest cut of buckskin, the taut shape of his thighs outlined by every flex of the muscles beneath, his black boots polished to a high gleam. He laughed and she dismissed his handsome attire in her hurry to reach his face; the sharp angle of his jaw, a flash of even white teeth and the dark slant of his brows, his eyes, magnificent and midnight blue, as entrancing as a fairytale spell. His smile made her breathless despite he focused on Lady Nobles, who smiled in turn at something clever he offered in way of congenial conversation. An irrational scratch of jealousy swiped at her from the inside out. Good lord, what was she doing? A kiss or two did not give her the right.

He turned then and caught her gaze, the intensity of his attention so strong she ached inside, anxious and impatient to understand the emotion conveyed as they matched eyes across the room. Heartrending tenderness showed in his expression and bore weight on her soul. Her breath held, suffocating from within, lulling her brain to cease thinking, yet her pulse pounded such a heavy thrum she’d have thought every guest would swivel in her direction, the lady in the corner, whose heart constricted under the scrutiny of Valerian’s cerulean stare. For one long breathless minute it was impossible to wrench her gaze away.

She forced her eyes to settle in observation of Lord Rigby who lingered near the brandy decanter, the single guest in the room who did not possess the carefree aura of celebration, his attention flicking between Leonard and Valerian. As Wilhelmina examined him more carefully, she noted his posture appeared rigid, his glass held tight in a white-knuckled grip.

On a sigh, she pivoted to look out the window and regain her equilibrium. What had she seen in Valerian’s face? Despair? Desire? For as much as she wished to label it heated and inviting, something else demanded recognition. A poignant emotion, and not one welcome.

She focused on the evening sky, barren of stars and their promised wishes. The moon broke through the clouds, its lambent light casting the courtyard cobbles in blue-black shadows. Belatedly she realized her back faced the company overlong and she turned, not wishing to appear maudlin or worse, displaced by the joyful celebration in the room. Valerian was gone, as well as Lord Rigby. An intangible force told her something was wrong. When a servant passed with a tray laden with champagne, Wilhelmina secured a glass and swallowed it in one gulp.

Chapter Fifteen

“I’ve only just arrived, Rigby.” Valerian eyed the closed doors and stepped farther onto the terrace, not bothering to disguise his impatient tone. “You’re instigating undue attention by sequestering me out here when I should be inside mingling with the other guests.”

“I’m at the end of my rope. You know the condition well.” Rigby eyed him as if to dismiss any further explanation. “I see no need to belabor what must be done with expedience. As you’ve made use of my payment,” he waved his hand to indicate Valerian’s haberdashery, “it’s time for you to uphold our agreement. I want this engagement broken. I expect you’ve contrived a plan. A few casual implications and outright flirtations should eradicate this sham of a courtship although any means would satisfy. I’d rather not spend unnecessary time in Nobles’ company. His smug grin erodes my civility. Let’s get on with it.”

Rigby was wrong on more counts than Valerian cared to consider. Yes, he’d deposited the earl’s draft though the funds remained intact, frozen by his indecision; his necessary attire gained at the price of his mother’s pearled charm.

Before arriving, Valerian had given the earl’s convoluted proposition due consideration. He’d reviewed the amount of debt that hovered like a harbinger of doom over his every action. He’d envisioned his future once Rigby spoke to his peers and expressed his reaction to the night’s events; and then succinctly walled his heart from all emotion, unwilling to consider how the consequences of the evening would impact Whimsy. She would never trust or speak to him again, believing he’d curried her favor while all along planning deception. Perhaps Rigby was correct. The evening’s destruction was best dealt with swiftly.

But then he’d entered the party and greeted Leonard and Fiona arm in arm, their smiles ear to ear. He’d faltered only the tiniest margin, the barricade circling his heart strong…until his eyes found Wilhelmina.

Why did he turn in her direction?

How could he not?

One glance at Whimsy across the room and the wall protecting his heart evaporated, raw desire no match for brick and mortar, real or otherwise. He could never destroy the tenuous bond they’d formed nor obliterate the hope for her future. He hadn’t the funds to recompense what she might gain from her matchmaking, regardless he’d forfeit all funds from his
matchbreaking
. And yet he couldn’t pay court. What little did he have to offer her? A paltry scrap of pride and a mockery of a title. That was not enough.

So he stood, once again trapped by circumstances and money; the root of all his heartache. He’d need to find some way to recover financial security or be as guilty as Jasper, vowing to do what must be done, but abandoning the plan when the conditions turned uncomfortable. Indulging in what he
wanted
more than what he
needed
. Although when he allowed honest emotion and considered Whimsy, the two conditions overlapped as if a blanket of homespun sanctuary.