Tempting Her Reluctant Viscount (17 page)

Smiling with relief, Hope sat down at the dressing table and held out a brush toward Olive. With humor in her voice, she said, “Well then, get to it Olive-dear. I have a gentleman to impress.”

“Miss, there is nothing that I could do to your hair that would outshine that smile, but I will do my best.”

Surprised by the heartfelt compliment, Hope’s eyes shone with pleasure as Olive took the brush from her hand and deftly began to brush through her long, honey-brown locks.

“Thank you,” Hope said softly as she met Olive’s gaze in the mirror.

…

Almost an hour later, Hope descended the grand staircase feeling absolutely beautiful. Not an emotion with which she was familiar, but the look in Michael’s eyes plus her own recollection of what she had seen in the mirror earlier was enough to convince her.

Aside from the fact she was wearing her very best dress—a lovely sapphire blue gown, empire cut and adorned with silver ribbons that just matched her slippers—Olive had done a magnificent job with her hair. The sides were swept back and pinned just behind her ears, with long loose curls left to fall behind her ears and over her shoulders. The back was a series of elaborate twists all culminating atop her head in a smooth and impossibly glossy bun in a basket weave pattern. It was like nothing Hope had ever seen before and she knew the style would be the envy of every woman at the ball. Of course, if one were to ask Hope, she would say the real enviable part of her accoutrement was the man she was with, not any part of her wardrobe.

Smiling, Hope finally reached the base of the steps and stood before Michael. He was looking at her in a familiar, somewhat slack-jawed, sort of way.

Hope had seen him thusly at many occasions and had always attributed it to a type of boredom with the event, but upon closer inspection, Hope now realized that he was actually speechless; enthralled with her, it would seem.

A burst of feminine pride shot through Hope, and she couldn’t help but smile.

…

It was at this moment that Lady Lancaster walked into the front hall. At first she stopped to appreciate the gloriousness that was Miss Hope Stuckeley, but then she saw Michael. Approaching him, she said dryly, “Michael…you are drooling. I suggest you get a hold of yourself.”

Michael didn’t even move.

“Michael!” Lady Lancaster commanded, this time clapping her hands loudly for emphasis. Michael glanced at her briefly then returned his gaze to Hope. Hope, it appeared, was as equally occupied with staring at him and he felt her gaze to the center of his being. Michael heard Lady Lancaster instruct Jacobs to open the door, but he barely noticed the icy wind that swept through the large room and enveloped him.

It took only a minute for the barely covered Hope to notice the change in temperature, and Michael watched as she searched for the cause.

It was then she noticed the duchess. “Oh, Lady Lancaster, are you leaving for the ball?”

“No,” the dowager said succinctly. “
We
are leaving for the ball.”

Hope’s brow burrowed in confusion and she glanced at Michael. “We?”

Lady Lancaster raised her eyebrow imperiously. “Yes, we. If you think I am going to let the two of you ride alone in a carriage, looking at each other the way you have the last ten minutes, then you must be mad.”

Flushing to the roots of her perfectly coifed hair, Hope turned to Michael. “Michael? Are you ready to go?” Lady Lancaster has been most patient.”

“Oh,” Michael said with surprise. “Are you coming with us, Elizabeth?”

“Most definitely, my dear boy,” the duchess replied in the most indisputable tone. “Most definitely.”

…

On the carriage ride over to the Abingdon ball, Michael filled Hope and Lady Lancaster in on what he had learned from the Exchange committee earlier in the day. It seemed that Butt was captured fleeing the city and was now in custody, along with De Berenger and the other perpetrators. Cochrane-Johnstone was nowhere to be found and, despite Michael’s report, the committee told him they planned to pursue the arrest of Lord Cochrane as soon as possible.

Knowing that an innocent man could be sitting in jail soon put a damper on Hope’s party spirit, but she put on a happy face and entered the ball with the desire to forget all about the mission for the evening and just enjoy herself.

However, it seemed the enjoyment would have to wait, because not five minutes after arriving, Hope saw her friend Rose being carried from the ballroom floor by her fiancé, Simon Trumbull.

Turning to Michael, Hope said, “Oh my goodness, it’s Rose. Please forgive me. I must check on her.”

And with that, she ran off to join her friends who, also concerned about Rose, were following Trumbull out of the ballroom.

…

Michael watched Hope’s rapidly retreating back in shock. Glancing around, as if expecting an explanation to the odd turn his life had taken in the past week, he instead found his good friend, William Bredon, the Earl of Pembroke.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Michael greeted his friend. “Pembroke. How good it is to see you.”

Arching a brow, William replied, “And you, as well, Lichfield.”

Feeling William’s unspoken question, Michael said weakly, “It has been a strange week.”

“I gather from Hannah that you have been spending some time with the lovely Miss Stuckeley,” William said, adding knowingly, “Considering your, ah,
affliction
around that particular young lady, I imagine ‘strange’ is an understatement.”

To Michael’s great chagrin, he felt himself flush.

Not one to miss his friend’s rise in color, William chuckled, “I do so like being right.”

Crossing his arms, Michael scowled. “Why was I so happy to see you, again?”

“Because I am such a good and kind friend, of course.”

“Hmph,” was Michael’s only response.

Laughing in earnest now, William asked, “Speaking of my betrothed…have you seen her, by any chance?”

Motioning toward the west ballroom doorway, Michael muttered, “Probably off with Hope. Their friend Rose fainted or something.”

“Rose?” William said in surprise. “She is not prone to fainting spells. Perhaps I had better check to see that she is all right.”

Michael glanced at William. It was amazing the transformation that had come over his friend since he met and fell in love with Lady Hannah. While always a dependable acquaintance, he was never what one would call attentive. Clearly Hannah had broadened his scope of reference, as well as his pool of friends.

Observing William a bit more warmly, Michael said, “I wouldn’t worry. Trumbull was with Miss Warren and he seemed to have the situation in hand.”

Looking back at Michael, William replied, “Trumbull, eh? Well, that’s fine then. That man is head over heels for that girl, mark my words.”

Shrugging, Michael took William’s word for it. He was acquainted with Simon Trumbull, certainly, but they were not close. And aside from Hannah, Michael had not met any of Hope’s friends yet. And he saw no reason to rush the introductions.

“So, Pembroke,” Michael started, “I gather you have heard by now … about my, er, romantic intentions.”

“To Miss Stuckeley, yes. Frankly, I am at a loss as to what you are thinking, my friend. I have yet to see you carry on an intelligible conversation with the girl.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Michael muttered.

The smug look on the other man’s face made Michael want to tell Pembroke exactly how well he and Hope
communicated
, but he held his tongue…barely.

“Ah, here they come,” William said suddenly and Michael turned to see Hope and her friends—minus Trumbull and Miss Warren—coming their way. Within seconds, Hope was, once again, by his side where she belonged.

When had that happened?
Michael mused. When had he begun to feel incomplete without Hope near him? Looking at her surreptitiously, Michael finally decided that he didn’t care when it had happened, only that had; and frankly, it might be time for him to do something to make sure she remained there…permanently. Assuming, of course, the girl felt something real toward him.

But first…he thought a dance might be in order.

Tuning into the conversation around him, Michael heard one of Hope’s friends—Lady Emily, he was sure—say, “We should spread the fainting story as quickly—and as subtly—as we can. It wouldn’t do to see Rose’s reputation ruined by allowing the scene she made to be pondered. We must take action to avoid any such gossip.”

“I’m not sure it would matter overmuch,” William’s brother Alexander replied with a grin. “Those two are clearly headed straight to the altar anyway, by the looks of things.”

Emily glared at Alexander. “Regardless of where things
seem
to be headed, I would like to ensure Rose arrives there untainted by the cruelty of the
ton
. If you don’t mind?” Emily finished with more than a little sarcasm and looked at Alexander archly.

Alexander very wisely kept his mouth shut and simply nodded. Emily sniffed her approval and turned to the rest of the group. “Shall we put our plan into action?”

Emily received assents all around and the friends quickly dispersed to pursue their task until only Hope and Michael remained.

“Your friend is rather, ah, intense,” Michael remarked once they were alone.

Bristling, Hope replied, “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Michael rushed to say. “It just seemed that Alexander was joking a bit, and Lady Emily took it a wee too seriously.”

Relaxing somewhat, Hope agreed. “Yes, the tension between Emily and Alexander has always been thick, though lately I’d say it is getting worse.”

“Hmmm,” Michael responded with a small knowing smile. It sounded like a classic case of unrequited desire, to him. Much like the dipping of a girl’s pigtails in an inkwell, or the teasing of a boy hoping he will notice and then ignoring him once he does. Childish antics… all grown up.

“What?” Hope asked.

Chuckling, Michael said, “Oh, it’s just a thought I had…”

At Hope’s raised brows, he continued with a shrug, “I just wonder if perhaps the two ‘doth protest
too
much’. If you know what I mean?”

“You mean…you think they have
feelings
for one another? Feelings other than abject hate, that is?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?

“Perhaps,” Hope replied thoughtfully as Michael moved to stand in front of her.

Clearing his throat meaningfully, Michael waited for her to notice him before bowing respectfully and saying, “Miss Stuckeley, may I have this dance?”

Hope blushed sweetly. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

Unable to keep the pleased smile from his face, Michael proudly led Hope to the dance floor. He was further gratified to hear the faint strains of a waltz beginning. Taking Hope into his arms, in the slightly scandalous close-hold required of the dance, Michael started enjoying the night.

Hope appeared equally content with the direction the evening was finally taking. Michael could feel the tension ebb out of her as they whirled around the dance floor.

After a few minutes, Hope asked, “Michael? May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why have you never married?”

Michael was somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of her question, but in light of his recent feelings, he thought he should answer truthfully.

“I suppose while I was in service to our country, I didn’t think it particularly fair to have a wife and a family. And since I have been back … Well, being a viscount doesn’t come natural to me. I enjoy working my own fields and conversing with my tenants. I think I behave far too much like a commoner for the ladies of the
ton
. I don’t understand leisure for the sake of leisure.”

Michael watched as Hope smiled and waited for her to say something in response. When she didn’t, he said, “Why do you smile?”

When she looked at him with her warm honey eyes, Michael saw something in her eyes he didn’t quite understand, but it made him feel a bit light-headed.

“Because you are just like me,” Hope replied somewhat wistfully. “I can’t sit idle working on stitcheries or paintings. I like to handle the family accounts, work with the tenants, and I take joy in guiding the gardeners. My father told me never to speak of these tendencies to a suitor. I guess most men don’t want industrious women as much as most ladies don’t want industrious men.”

Michael could tell that Hope’s words weren’t just to placate him. She honestly felt the same way as him. Remarkable that. All this time he was sure he was unlovable, when perhaps he just needed to find the right woman…

Chapter Eighteen

Life decisions that affect more than yourself should be made with the consultation of all involved.

~The Duke of Lancaster

The next day, Lady Lancaster held her weekly Garden Society meeting. The topic of the day seemed to be Rose’s behavior at the ball the previous evening, and it appeared to be a topic that Rose wanted very much to avoid. Which meant, of course, that the ladies were loath to let it go.

“You still haven’t explained why you were crying in the first place,” Emily prodded insistently.

“Simon probably said something horrible to her,” Hannah guessed.

“If that were true, then why did Rose throw herself at him when they were in the library?” Sarah retorted.

“Sarah!” Lady Lancaster admonished. “I am certain none of my girls would
throw
themselves at a man.”

Sarah shrugged as if to say, “If you say so”, but it was clear she still expected an answer to her question.

Rose rolled her eyes. “I would really rather not discuss it. I appreciate all your concern, but it is unnecessary. I am fine…Simon is fine…
we
are both just fine.”

“
Fine
,” Sarah repeated grumpily, “but I still want to know what happened.”

“Duly noted,” Rose replied with a sigh. “Lady Lancaster, are there any Society missions to talk about?”

Hesitating slightly before answering, the duchess glanced over at Hope. Despite what appeared to be a very enjoyable evening for her last night with Michael, Lady Lancaster could tell that Hope was not fully present with them this afternoon. It was clear from the slight frown she was wearing and her quiet, subdued demeanor, Hope was back to worrying about the case and, most probably, her father.