Defying the Earl (2 page)

“Jasper…”

“Out here there’s not a female of refinement for miles with the exception of Widow Bartleton and frankly, I’ve seen better eyes on a potato.”

“Jasper.” His tone left no room for misinterpretation. “It’s a dishonest sham and I will not participate.” A familiar tightness wrapped round Val’s chest and he forced himself to exhale as he unclenched his fists. “Deception is hardly a strong foundation for marriage. What would I tell the lady when she discovers I am penniless?”

“Females are more interested in romance and emotion than fact. She might overlook the detail of your waning accounts once her heart becomes involved. You must admit, the idea has worth. And if you present the perception of affluence, but never directly reveal the state of the finances, it can hardly be labeled dishonest. You must admit that all relationships are built on a measure of deceit. Women use bust enhancers, lip rouge and fashion without a twinge of conscience. Besides, deception has such an ugly connotation. This is more of a faradiddle, an honest white lie.”

“An honest lie?” Val shook his head to clear his brother’s senseless prattling. “There must be something I can do to earn money and still keep my purpose from society’s ear.” He tapped his fingers against the desktop in a habit of deliberation. His eyes fell to the multitude of unpaid bills stacked as high as the inkwell near the corner of his desktop. “For the life of me, I’m only good at making a mess and ruining things.”

“Well, you can’t go around ruining young ladies. That won’t help our cause. But…”

Val closed his eyes and prepared himself for the completion of what was sure to be another idiotic suggestion.

“You could ruin relationships. You know, instigate problems to force two people apart instead of together. A sort of
matchbreaker
. I’ve known many a fellow who wished to be released from an obligatory relationship and I’m sure there are parents who disapprove of their daughter’s suitors or son’s impetuous choice in bride. You could become a man for hire, entirely in secret of course. Charge a fee and set someone free.”

Poised to dismiss Jasper’s ramblings with a grain of salt, Val initially disregarded the suggestion, yet the further his brother expounded on the opportunity to provide a service executed in secret and worthy of a tidy sum, the higher his ears perked to the idea. “A
matchbreaker
, you say. Someone to ruin relationships that weren’t meant to be. The idea has merit.” Especially given Val regarded romantic relationships as a colossal waste of emotion. Assisting those who wanted escape could prove rewarding. Perhaps it would ease the eternal ache of his past and the wrongdoing of one particular female.

“I can act as your agent. Arrange the situations and assignations, so you needn’t be associated with the darker side of business. I’ve the best connections. It is the perfect plan. Don’t you agree?”

Valerian forced his attention to his brother’s question. For some reason, Jasper took delight in his proposed role. Would his brother never learn or would he always be wooed by danger and bizarre circumstance?

Bizarre indeed, but perhaps the answer to their eminent demise. As startling a notion as Jasper suggesting a feasible solution, the idea could work…or, if the whole plan backfired, their irrefutable ruin would continue. Either way, the proposition presented a better fate than wasting away in their dilapidated country home. His stomach growled loudly as if to concur. He swung his eyes to his brother, the hint of a sly smile matched by Jasper’s encouraging grin, yet Valerian kept his reply between his teeth.

Chapter Two

Wilhelmina Montgomery settled near the cross-paned windows of the sitting room and watched a turtledove hop into a nest on a larch branch grown too closely to the glass. How comfortable and cozy the graceful bird appeared. A shiver rippled through her in contrast; the front room of Aunt Kate’s town house was drafty at best, although she didn’t notice the chill in complaint. Her eyes flittered to each corner adorned with feminine detail. One glance bespoke no gentleman lived thus, embroidered pillows and a floral Brussels weave carpet most notable. Yet other decorations declared a soft elegance. Small watercolor landscapes spotted the walls and delicate porcelain figures sat patiently on a shelf. Her aunt had opened her heart and her home and for that Wilhelmina would forever be grateful. Without her aunt’s generosity, she and her sister, Lavinia, would have no place to call home.

The fear of displacement smothered her heart in a hasty swath of regret. Security remained paramount, no matter their meager lifestyle proved difficult at times. Lavinia’s wellbeing and their sparse financial situation threaded back to the carriage accident that took their parents’ lives two summers past. Wilhelmina would never forget the horror of that evening, a night that left her with no mother or father, and a sister clinging to life.

Melancholy brought fresh tears to Wilhelmina’s eyes and she looked toward the gray London sky, her forlorn mood echoed in the threat of rain. With determination, she dismissed the feeling, unwilling to succumb to sadness. Exhaling firmly, she settled her hands upon the commonplace book resting on her lap and opened the cover with care.

Bits and pieces of her life were glued to each page in the thick leather volume preserving cherished memories. A pencil sketch of her as a baby, notes received on birthdays and special occasions, even her first dance card lay pasted in remembrance. She bypassed these pages in a flurry until she reached the final leaf in the book where an artist had drawn a miniature family portrait. Her mother’s expression warmed her heart and her father’s outlandish mustache restored a smile to her face. Wilhelmina missed her parents dearly and the simple happiness the four of them once shared. So much had changed.

Here in London, away from the modest country home that had been sold and settled, Wilhelmina and Lavinia led unadventurous lives. Aunt Kate spent money with caution, as she should. As daughters of a conservative peer, the sisters brought little to fortify the coffers. Lavinia’s needs were costly, but Wilhelmina begrudged not one penny.

At times a spark of despair for what her sister and she would never experience, the glittering ballrooms and opulent gowns, dared to woo her, but she swept it away with the same forceful purpose as one attended a flyaway ember from the fireplace, extinguished and forgotten. Her life was not designed for wishes and fanciful thoughts. Duty and responsibility were more important.

“Whimsy.”

Her aunt’s sudden beckon voicing her childhood name banished any remnants of sadness and Wilhelmina rose to greet the elderly woman at the sitting room door, happy for the diversion from her maudlin reflection.

“Good morning, Aunt Kate. Let me help you with the tea tray. Whysoever are you carrying it instead of the housekeeper?” Wilhelmina spoke in a loud clear voice to compensate for her aunt’s hearing difficulties, a natural progression of advanced age. She strode forward, arms outstretched and ready to assist with the silver, but her feisty aunt outmaneuvered with finesse.

“Do not fuss over me, dear. I’m fine.” Aunt Kate placed the tea tray on the buffet table before she continued. “Rose’s arthritis was bothersome this morning, so I went upstairs to Livie’s room for a dab of medicinal ointment. Then I insisted on carrying the tea caddy so Rose might apply the cream and rest while her joint pain subsides.” Her aunt paused and carefully filled two cups with tea before adding a spoonful of sugar to each. “While abovestairs, Livie asked if I might fetch you. She had trouble sleeping last night.” A concerned tsking followed the admission. “If only the doctor could ascertain how to permanently relieve the painful cramping in her legs.” Worry creased Aunt Kate’s brow before she raised troubled eyes. “Your sister is tired and hopes the sound of your voice reading one of those lengthy poems you favor will lull her into a peaceful nap.”

“Of course.” Wilhelmina smiled with delight. “And do not worry about her condition. Livie’s health has improved so much of late.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed as well. The therapy is worth every penny if it restores her strength and mobility. Her legs are becoming more reliable with each passing day and I believe the kneading of her muscles and the nurse’s insistence that she walk the room as exercise is the remedy. Thank heavens.”

Wilhelmina’s heart pumped a heavy beat. Without her aunt’s unfailing support, who knew what would have become of them? But how would she ever repay her aunt’s generosity and concern? Of late she’d considered ideas to generate income independently, but hadn’t any luck. As a lady, opportunities were limited and if she were to accept funds and the arrangement became revealed, she would shame her aunt more than benefit her obligation. Aunt Kate had shown only kindness and consideration, and as their only blood relation, Wilhelmina was very fond of the endearing woman, as was her sister. She could never bring embarrassment and scandal to her aunt’s doorstep.

The clink of china revived her attention and Wilhelmina replaced concern with relief. “I would be delighted to read Livie to sleep.” She turned to the bookshelf at her back and with the flick of her wrist tipped a volume into her palm. “Shall I share Byron, Blake, or Shelley?”

“That sounds like a poem in itself, although I’m sure anything you choose will suit. Livie and I wouldn’t know the difference between the three. We trust your decision.” Aunt Kate nodded with candid assurance.

“Perhaps I will teach her to recognize the subtle nuances between the poets’ styles.” Wilhelmina struggled to keep laughter from her voice.

“Then I’m sure she’ll find a restorative nap soon after.”

Warmed by her aunt’s teasing, Wilhelmina turned to the hallway and began the stairs leading to the second floor intent on seeing her sister well rested. She could never confess she’d memorized most of the poems before she’d sold her father’s book collection in an attempt to add to their meager savings. Sometimes she’d hold an open volume in her hands and turn the pages as she recited the poems of a different poet, giving the appearance of reading directly from the book even though it was the works of another. Livie never questioned why the book cover always looked the same and for that, Wilhelmina was thankful. She already carried the guilty knowledge many of her father’s volumes went to sale with pages torn loose, the same now glued firmly into her keepsake book downstairs.

She knocked on Livie’s bedchamber door and entered without pause. Her sister sat upright in bed, her hair tied with a bright yellow ribbon, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. Everything was as usual, the bright white of her night rail a stark echo of Livie’s complexion and a constant reminder her sister rarely ventured outside.

“You should be resting.” Wilhelmina’s admonishing tone was ruined by her grin. “I’m sorry you were unable to sleep. Did the cramping hurt terribly?” When she reached the bedside, she resisted the urge to stroke her sister’s blanket-encased legs. Livie had made significant progress the last few weeks and it was distressing to hear she’d suffered through the night. What if they’d reached a barrier in the treatment and the daily massages would no longer relieve Livie’s pain? What if their greatest fear, that the atrophy would become permanent, proved a reality? How would anyone prevent the vicious leg spasms that began directly after the carriage accident and tortured Livie each night until the recent treatments? They’d consulted every reputable doctor in London to no avail until they’d discovered the massage technique practiced by Dr. Morris and his nurse. Wilhelmina’s chest grew tight at the threat of Livie’s painful episodes returning. She’d reassured Aunt Kate downstairs, but in truth, the same fear lurked in her heart.

“What is it?” Livie’s soft voice drew her immediate attention. “Why do you look so sad all of a sudden?”

Her mind reeled for a suitable answer; anything to reassure Livie and sustain the pretense she harbored no worry, yet lying was a skill she’d never perfected. One glance in her direction and Livie would know whatever she said was untrue. Wilhelmina dropped her eyes to the poetry book clenched so tightly in her hands her knuckles faded white. “Nothing. Now should we get started?”

“Not yet.” Livie clasped her arm. “I’m worried about my treatments.”

Sister kinship. Only a year separated them and they knew each other’s thoughts, emotions and ambitions without effort. “You needn’t worry. I’m sure last night was a minor setback. I believe your condition is temporary and your strength will return.” It was difficult for Wilhelmina to say more when her own concern dared surface.

“No, not that.” Livie released a thorough breath. “These treatments are expensive and the cost of a full-time nurse and the various liniments must be devastating to Aunt Kate’s bank account. I overheard the doctor speaking to her about payment.” She splayed a hand toward the bedside table where bottles, lotions, and ointments littered the glass.

“Are you sure you heard correctly? Was the doctor complaining?”

“Oh, I am sure of the conversation. Dr. Morris needed to repeat it twice so Aunt could hear him clearly. I assume they thought I was asleep even though they’d moved to the hallway.” Livie sighed, her hands wringing the blanket in her lap. “How will Aunt Kate afford my continued care? What if these costly treatments are so financially straining it creates hardship? I couldn’t live with myself if Aunt Kate compromised her lifestyle to accommodate my disability.” Livie’s voice trailed off as she continued. “The chair is not so awful.”

“What are you saying?” Wilhelmina’s eyes settled on the wheelchair abandoned near the window and she shook her head as if to refuse the notion, her heart aching at the thought.

“I’m worried I will bankrupt Aunt Kate, when in fact she has been our saving grace. I could never live with myself if that occurred.” Livie’s voice dropped to a whisper and desperation tinged the words. “Oh Whimsy, what are we to do?”

“Sisters think alike.” Wilhelmina settled on the corner of the bed and in consternation ran a finger along the coverlet’s lace edging. “I’ve had the very same thought for a fortnight, but for the life of me I can’t find a solution.” She set the book of poems down and wove her fingers in her lap before unfolding them to smooth her skirts. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”