by Rose Pearson
“It was very foolish of me to fight against our marriage in the way I did,” Lord Burton finished with a broad smile in Oliver’s direction. “It is my hope, therefore, that this evening, you might find yourself looking at the young ladies without any of your dark intentions.”
Oliver frowned at this, feeling a little needled by the remark. “I do not understand what you mean, Lord Burton,” he said, a little more sharply than he had meant. “Dark intentions?”
Lord Burton chuckled and slapped Oliver on the shoulder, making Oliver want to recoil as far away from the man as possible. He said nothing more but waited for Lord Burton to explain himself as his anger continued to burn a little more hotly with every second that passed.
“My dear fellow,” Lord Burton said eventually in a rather booming voice that made Oliver wince. “The ton knows very well you are not a gentleman who wishes to court without having any particular intention towards them other than to satisfy your desires.” He lifted one brow in silent challenge, and Oliver found he could not easily contradict the gentleman, given everything he had said thus far was quite true. “That is why I speak of ‘dark intentions,’ Lord Montague. Your intentions are not considered to be gentlemanly, and I must insist you give no attention to such plans this evening.” His voice became sterner as he turned just a little to face Oliver more directly. “Why do you not see if there are any ladies here who might just capture your attention in a way other than what you are used to?”
Oliver snorted in derision and turned his head away. “I do not think such a thing will be possible,” he said without either hesitation or embarrassment. “I seek out the company of ladies for a specific reason and I—”
“Just for one evening,” Lord Burton interrupted, holding up one hand. “Make your way around the room. Converse with each person present, instead of looking at them in a way that only speaks to your desires. See if any here are able to capture your attention in a way you have never thought possible.” He chuckled, lifting one eyebrow. “Or do you think you are so very uninteresting that you will have nothing to say and they might be the ones to turn from you?”
Gritting his teeth, Oliver bit back his first, sharp response and looked around the room quickly. Lord Burton was quite correct. There were young ladies present whom he had never been introduced to and certainly would never have sought an introduction to either. He preferred bright, vivacious, enchanting young ladies to the quieter, dull creatures who needed a good deal of encouragement before they opened up to him even a little. But this evening, it seemed, he was going to be surrounded by such creatures and would have no choice but to speak to them in the way Lord Burton suggested.
“I am quite certain I will be able to make pleasant conversation if that is what you are asking me to do,” he muttered as Lord Burton slapped him on the shoulder again, making him grit his teeth in frustration. “And I shall be able to do it very well indeed.”
“You shall have to lose all of your usual charms,” Lord Burton laughed as he turned away. “For none here will react to it in the way you are used to.” And, so saying, he turned away from Oliver and moved back to stand by his wife, ready to greet the rest of his guests.
Oliver sighed heavily, looking at the other guests and allowing his gaze to rest on each one for just a short moment. He did not know very many of them at all, although one or two he recognized. They were not overly pretty nor confident in their manner, which needled him. Perhaps he should have found an excuse not to attend this evening, given the dullness that lay before him.
“Good evening, Lord Burton.”
A voice he recognized caught his ears as he glanced behind him, seeing a young lady step into the room with a fair-haired companion just behind her. His stomach dropped to the floor, and his heart began to quicken with embarrassment as he recognized the young lady whom he had thought he had injured, only to realize she had a bad limp. Turning his head away, he winced as he heard Lord Burton’s booming voice reach his ears.
“And might I present, whilst I have the opportunity, the Earl of Montague to you, Lady Amelia?”
Clearing his throat and having no other choice but to do as Lord Burton now insisted, Oliver turned around and inclined his head towards the young lady, trying desperately to prevent the flare of heat he felt in his chest from rising to his face. “Lady Amelia,” he said, lifting his head and sending any angry glance towards Lord Burton, who was now grinning broadly. “How very good to see you again.”
“Ah!” Lord Burton exclaimed, one hand on his heart as he looked from Lady Amelia to Oliver and back again. “You are already acquainted. Wonderful, quite wonderful.” He bowed hastily and took his leave, returning to his position beside his wife as the last few guests began to come into the room.
“You remember Mrs. Peters,” Lady Amelia said quietly, glancing to her left and gesturing to the smaller, fair-haired lady. “She is my companion.”
“But of course,” Oliver said smoothly, bowing to Mrs. Peters and silently thinking to himself that this evening would not get any better. “How are you, Mrs. Peters?”
“Very well,” Mrs. Peters replied with a tight smile. “Thank you, Lord Montague.”
He managed to smile but then could not think of anything more to say. There was still embarrassment that rose up within him when he thought of what had occurred previously between himself and Lady Amelia. Looking about him, he cleared his throat and then tried to find even the smallest, most innocuous remark with which to break the silence.
“I—I do hope you enjoyed the ball, Lady Amelia.”
Cringing inwardly as he said those words, Oliver looked at Lady Amelia and forced himself to smile, knowing their previous meeting was the only thing he ought not to have mentioned.
“The ball?” Lady Amelia looked back at him, her green eyes more vivid than he remembered them. In fact, the more he looked at her, the more Oliver began to realize just how pretty the young lady was. She had a delicate oval face, with dark tresses that allowed a few wisps about her temples whilst the rest were held back. Oliver found himself musing as to just how long Lady Amelia’s hair might be, allowing his gaze to drift down her gentle curves and wondering if she might be a rather easy conquest. She would not be captured by any other gentleman, given her limp, which meant she might be quite willing to step into his arms and allow him to steal a few kisses. He would do nothing more, of course, for he did not treat innocent creatures such as she in that way, but it would be interesting to see if she would permit his attentions.
“Lord Montague?”
There was a hardness to Lady Amelia’s voice that jerked him back to the present, making him realize that not only had he not answered her as yet, but he had also spent the last few moments in silent contemplation, thinking of things he ought not to have been.
“I apologize,” he said, bowing quickly as a flush crept up his neck. “I should not have mentioned the ball. I did not mean to upset you.”
“You did not.”
He blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sharpness to her voice and even more astonished at the dark expression that now captured her features. She had not appeared thus when he had first met her at the ball, thinking she was nothing more than a poor creature who wanted to hide herself away from his—and society’s—view.
“I have a limp,” she declared, making him take a small step back such was the fervor with which she spoke. “That is all, Lord Montague. There is nothing for me to be ashamed of and, indeed, I will no longer permit myself to be made to feel as though it is something I ought to hide away.” She lifted her chin, and Oliver noticed a shard of determination in her eyes, which he had not noticed before. “Do not think our prior meeting brought me any shame, Lord Montague,” she finished, her head held high, and her expression radiating boldness. “For I can assure you, I feel no such thing.”
For some moments, Oliver could not quite find a response. Lady Amelia was speaking in a way he had not expected, and he did not quite know what he ought to
say nor how he ought to act. He managed a small smile, inclining his head towards her as he fought to find something appropriate to say. “But of course,” he said, cringing just a little at his lack of response. “I did not mean to…what I should say is—”
“Lady Amelia, you have arrived!”
Oliver looked up, relieved he was no longer going to have to struggle to find something to say. An elegant lady approached, her eyes bright, and her hand outstretched towards Lady Amelia. He recognized her at once. This was none other than Lady Smithton, who had dealt with a good deal of rumor and the like herself, given people liked to whisper about the death of her late husband and considered that Lady Smithton might have had something to do with it. Lady Smithton had shown no sign of being affected by the gossip, which he had admired. At one point, Oliver had considered approaching Lady Smithton himself, given she was a wealthy, independent widow who might wish for a little more intimate company with a gentleman of her acquaintance, but in the end, he had chosen to stay away from her. Lady Smithton was a little too confident and a little too determined for his liking. He much preferred ladies who were a bit quieter.
“How very good to see you,” Lady Amelia murmured, greeting Lady Smithton. “Do you know the Earl of Montague?” Lady Amelia glanced towards Oliver, her eyes barely landing on him before she turned her head away again. “He and I have been recently acquainted.”
Lady Smithton curtsied quickly, just as Oliver bowed, murmuring a greeting.
“Yes,” Lady Smithton replied, speaking only to Lady Amelia. “Yes, I am acquainted with Lord Montague.” She gave him another sharp glance, clearly well aware of his reputation. “You must excuse us, Lord Montague. I have a few people I wish to introduce Lady Amelia to.”
“But of course,” he murmured, realizing Lady Smithton was trying to extract Lady Amelia from his company and finding himself a little irritated by it. Lady Amelia inclined her head in farewell, whilst Mrs. Peters did not even glance at him before following after her charge. Oliver was left standing alone, his temper flaring hot within him as embarrassment poured into his heart. Lady Smithton did not want him near Lady Amelia, and Lady Amelia herself was clearly willing to do as Lady Smithton asked. That was to be expected, he supposed, given Lady Smithton was more than able to encourage and support Lady Amelia within society, but still, her actions grated at him. The anger within him made him want to pursue Lady Amelia all the more, to make her fall in love with him so that he might steal her kisses and draw her close to him, only to then separate themselves completely and move onto another. It was a desire born from anger, from frustration and from the shame that now nudged at his heart, rather than his usual consideration that she was pretty and much too innocent to be ignored.
“What did you say to her?”
“I said nothing,” Oliver muttered, turning towards Lord Burton and wishing that the gentleman would leave him alone. “I was merely making conversation.”
“Rather poor conversation, it seems,” Lord Burton muttered, gesturing towards Lord Havisham, who was now being introduced to Lady Amelia by Lady Smithton. “Lord Havisham seems to be much better company in the eyes of Lady Smithton.”
“I am sure he is,” Oliver replied, forcing his frustration down. “You know very well it is unwise for ladies to allow their charges near me, Lord Burton.” He shrugged, trying to brush off any more embarrassment that he had been left standing alone whilst Lady Smithton took Lady Amelia away from him. “Therefore, it is quite understandable for Lady Smithton to behave in such a way. I applaud her sense.”
Lord Burton said nothing but studied Oliver in a way Oliver felt to be most uncomfortable. It was as though Lord Burton did not believe him and was now waiting for him to speak truthfully. Oliver kept his mouth shut tight, feeling a good deal of awkwardness but refusing to say another word.
“I do hope you have better success during the rest of the evening,” Lord Burton said eventually. “The musical section is about to start, and I hope you will enjoy that also. Perhaps Lady Amelia will play for us, and you might be able to compliment her thereafter, without her companion and her friend pulling her away.” He gave Oliver a broad wink, which irritated Oliver even more, before turning away and leaving Oliver to stand alone.
Wandering forward so that he would not be seen to be standing by himself all over again, Oliver grabbed a glass of brandy from one of the footmen and made his way to the shadowy corners of the room. How he wished he had made the decision to stay away from Lord Burton’s gathering and had gone to Whites as he had wished! Now that he was here, he could not easily escape and leave for the gentleman’s club. He would have to endure another hour or so before he might finally have the opportunity to depart. And endure he would, even if it meant staying precisely where he was and not conversing with anyone else.
Chapter Five
“That was a wonderful performance.”
Oliver nodded slowly as the gentleman beside him commented on Lady Amelia’s performance at the pianoforte. He had come to sit down with the rest of the guests so that they might pay rapt attention to those who came to either play or sing for the gathered crowd, wondering just how long he might have to stay before he could leave altogether.
And then, Lady Amelia had come to sit down by the pianoforte, and everything had changed. Her voice had captured his full attention, the gentleness of her song pushing away his frustration, his anger, and his upset, and leaving, in their place, a quiet peace he could not seem to push from himself.
“Oh, it appears she is to sing another!” said the gentleman, although this time he spoke to the gentleman beside him. “Who would have thought a cripple would be able to perform in such a way?”
Much to Oliver’s surprise, a streak of anger ran straight up his spine and sent his hands curling into fists. There was no need for him to feel any sort of anger given Lady Amelia was, as this gentleman had said, a cripple. But he had never once considered that her limp would prevent her from playing the pianoforte and singing for the audience. He heard the two gentlemen laugh darkly, hearing fragments of remarks that came from the one sitting a little further away and felt his anger beginning to burn all the more. He could not understand himself, could not explain why he felt so much anger when he himself would have made such a remark had he been in different company.
“Just a final piece,” he heard someone say to Lady Amelia, looking back at her to see Lady Amelia blushing profusely, her cheeks a bright pink and her eyes darting all over the place, clearly a little awkward. “What say you to this?”
Their host, Lord Burton, beamed delightedly at Lady Amelia as she nodded, accepted the music from him and settled it in front of her. His heart lifted in expectation, his whole body tensing just a little as though he were waiting eagerly for her to bring that same peace to his heart as she had done only a few minutes before.
The first notes broke through the quiet and very soon, he was being carried away on a river of calm. His eyes closed as she continued to sing, thinking this was the most beautiful song he had ever heard. Lady Amelia’s voice was gentle yet strong, merging with the piano in the most beautiful duet. He did not know what it was she was singing about, did not find he cared, but felt as though all he wanted to do was listen to her sing.
It came to an end much too soon, and Oliver began to clap in earnest, truly glad to have been present in the room for her performance. He watched her closely as Lord Burton came around to the pianoforte and offered her his arm, seeing how she accepted it gratefully. Her limp was barely noticeable as she walked alongside Lord Burton, who helped her back towards her chair beside Lady Smithton and Mrs. Peters, both of whom bent their heads to, no doubt, whisper congratulations to Lady Amelia.
“And now we have Miss Fairbank,” Lord Burton exclaimed as Oliver continued to watch Lady Amelia, who was sitting to his right, meaning he could see her profile but very little else. As Miss Fairbank came to sit down at the pianoforte, Oliver felt his heart begin to sink back down into his soul,
his spirits dwindling fast and returning to the frustrated anger that had been there ever since Lady Smithton had pulled Lady Amelia away.
“Are you going to take her on, Lord Montague?”
Jumping in surprise, he turned to see the gentleman next to him—one Lord Davidson—grinning at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are watching Lady Amelia very closely,” Lord Davidson said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Are you considering her to be your next conquest? If so, then I shall put a bet down in Whites, in the hope of turning my fortunes around!” He chuckled, although wincing just a little. “My coffers are a little low given my lack of success in cards of late.”
Oliver shook his head, remembering his steadfast determination not to do as he had done last year, where gentlemen placed bets on which young lady or widow he might turn his attention to next. “I fear I must disappoint you, Davidson,” he replied with a half-smile. “I do not think I shall be drawing near to Lady Amelia.”
Lord Davidson chuckled, let out a long, mocking sigh, and rolled his eyes. “I suppose I cannot blame you, given the way the lady is,” he remarked, sending another flare of anger along Oliver’s spine. “She is quite lovely of face, of course, but that leg…” He sighed again, trailing off whilst his eyes flicked towards Lady Amelia again. “I pity the gentleman that finds himself drawing close to her. I know she has a very large dowry—no doubt, to make up for what she lacks—but even that would not tempt me.”
Oliver gritted his teeth, forcing back his anger and telling himself he had no reason to feel anything at all over Lady Amelia. It was a most unusual feeling for him, given he had never felt anything for any young lady before, especially not for someone who was a little less than perfect. That was what he sought, was it not? Perfection. A young lady who was nothing short of a diamond of the first water, entirely innocent and warned to be careful of gentlemen and their foibles. It was a game he played, slowly teasing the lady until finally, she gave in and allowed him to pull her into his embrace. When she stepped away from everything she had been told, everything she had been warned about, and gave in to his charms.
