And yet, he wanted nothing more than to propose right here and now, just to ensure that he did not miss the opportunity of having her in his life.
It was ridiculous. It was utter romantic nonsense. He grinned outright as they strode down the hall.
But despite all that, it was undeniable.
Damian fell into step beside him. “I told you that Mr. Charleston was called away, did I not?”
Edward nodded, uncertain why the presence of the vicar had been so very anticipated in the first place. There was nothing wrong with Mr. Charleston, it was just that he was...well, boring. There was no other word for it. The man’s sermons had been Edward’s secret means of finding the peace he needed to sleep for years now—though he’d never admit as much to anyone.
Damian seemed to be waiting for a response and Edward tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice as he said, “’Tis a pity but I’m certain we can make do without him.”
Damian chuckled. “Oh, I am certain you and I will not be so sorry for the lack of Mr. Charleston’s company. But Pru is distraught.”
Edward arched his brows. “I did not realize your wife was so very fond of our vicar.”
Damian grinned, that same boyish silly grin he wore whenever anyone so much as mentioned his new bride. “She is not, that I am aware of, but she had hopes of him being a good match for her friend, Miss Grayson.”
Miss Grayson. The name tickled some part of his memory. He’d heard the name before, several times, but it took him a moment to place it. Ah yes. Miss Grayson, the poor spinster who ran the finishing school Pru had attended these past two years.
“One last hope for the poor lady, hmm?” he asked, not without a good deal of sympathy. From all that Pru had said about this Miss Grayson, he knew quite well that he and his family owed her a good deal. Pru had suffered mightily living with her great aunt on the neighboring estate and he understood that it was Miss Grayson and the friends she’d made at school who’d become her true family.
He and Damian owed Miss Grayson everything for that alone. Damian seemed to be thinking the same. “Miss Grayson is quite the charming lady, I think you’ll find, Uncle. I am sorry for her sake that our vicar is unavailable, but I’ve promised Prudence that you and I would make up for the fact that our party now has uneven numbers, and poor Miss Grayson will not be left out.”
“Of course not,” Edward agreed. “We owe her a good deal.”
“Precisely.” Damian shot him a cunning, sidelong look. “But do not worry, Uncle. I will see that you have time with your fair new friend.”
Edward returned his smirk with a haughty glare that made his nephew laugh. To both of their surprise, he started laughing as well.
Damian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It has been far too long since I’ve seen you looking so happy, Uncle.” They reached the doors to the drawing room and Damian opened the door as he turned back to say, “It is about time.”
Edward huffed in exasperation, but even Damian’s patronizing tone couldn’t dim this new happiness. Who would have thought he’d be getting life lessons from his nephew? But perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was time to live a little. To shake off this gloom that had been plaguing him for years, a melancholy he’d never quite been able to explain.
The doors swung open and then...there she was. Looking even more beautiful, if far more refined. Her head tipped down, her lips pressed together and her hands clasped before her, she looked like an angel as she stood beside the fireplace on the far side of the room.
His eyes could only see her, and it was only years of restraint and good manners that kept him from rushing to her side, pausing instead as Damian gestured toward two other newcomers, a petite brunette with striking features and an older woman who looked to be...her mother.
His stomach seemed to be the first part of him to understand. It sank like a stone. His lungs went next, all the air rushing out of him in a long exhale that felt decidedly like a punch. His mind eventually caught up, but it did not fully register until Damian was saying the words. “And of course, you’ve already become acquainted with Miss Farthington.”
Damian’s eyes twinkled with smug mischief as poor Miss Farthington blinked up at Edward in confusion.
He opened his mouth but only a hesitant sound came out as he tried to figure out how to resolve this situation.
Miss Farthington recovered first. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure.” She and her mother gave a low curtsy and therefore missed Damian’s look of confusion.
“You haven’t?” Damian said.
Edward quickly started talking before Damian could open his mouth and ask more questions, such as ‘then who did you meet, Uncle?’
Who had he saved from the storm?
His gaze was pulled toward the far side of the room, quite of its own accord.
Who indeed?
But of course, the answer was obvious and came to him as Miss Farthington politely answered his questions about their travel with an equally polite response.
If he could only tear his gaze away from the blonde in the corner, the whole interlude would have been most polite indeed. But as it was, he couldn’t force himself to look away, not for long, not even after the error of his ways had become abominably clear.
Miss Grayson. She had to be Miss Grayson—the poor spinster with only the most distant connections to the peerage.
The one meant for the vicar.
His hands clenched at his sides. The boring, tedious, sanctimonious spinster.
Edward’s rage was unwarranted. Illogical.
But try telling that to his heart which was pounding in his chest as though it had just come alive and demanded attention. He was so caught up in these new emotions, this roiling jolt of anger and longing and...mine.
Yes, possessiveness. That was what this sensation was. Though it made no sense and bore no logic, he could not deny that whenever his glance fell on Miss Grayson, that one word was all his mind could muster to explain the very physical reaction he had toward her.
Miss Grayson was his. It was that simple.
He tore his gaze away to find Damian engrossed in tedious small talk with Lady Bradford as Miss Farthington watched him closely.
It was that simple...and also that complicated, he mentally amended.
Miss Farthington shifted closer, shutting out the other two as she addressed him directly. “As it was not I who had the pleasure of making your acquaintance earlier today, I must assume it was some other fortunate young lady.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You’re quite right. My mistake.”
To his surprise, her dark eyes seemed to light with laughter transforming her small pretty features into something more interesting. He was reminded of tales of sprites and fairies from folklore when she leaned in farther. “Or perhaps it was not a mistake at all.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
She drew back quickly, the mischievous glint replaced by a more serene amusement. “Nothing at all. It is just that at this time of year, one must believe in miracles, mustn’t one?”
He blinked again and just barely resisted the urge to repeat himself. I beg your pardon?
Really. What on earth was she speaking about?
She raised her voice a little louder so her mother and Damian were once more included. “My lord, have you had the pleasure of meeting Miss Grayson?”
She’d spoken so loudly that Miss Grayson’s head lifted, her eyes widened, and she glanced over with a start. When her gaze met his—
Lightning.
Thunder.
The storm had well since passed, but he might as well have been in the midst of another, right here in this room. Her clear blue eyes were wide and startled before she looked back to Prudence and the moment was over.
But she’d felt it, too. She had to have felt it.
“She is a most charming lady,” Miss Farthington was saying as she stepped closer to his side. He held out an arm to escort her to the other side of
the room where Miss Grayson waited. “Don’t you agree, Lord Damian?”
“Oh yes,” Damian said quickly. “Miss Grayson is a dear friend of ours and had been as good as a second mother to my darling wife.”
Edward huffed in irritation. It was not the first time Damian or Prudence had referred to Miss Grayson thus—as though she were some round, plump, ancient maternal figure, so far on the shelf as to be forgotten.
His jaw clenched in irritation on her behalf, though he knew very well that neither his nephew nor his bride meant any harm. No, what bothered him most of all was that he suspected they were merely voicing what she believed.
How did he know? His gaze locked on her and he swore he could feel her resisting the tug of his gaze.
He couldn’t say how he knew, but he sensed it. He saw it in the way she held herself which was all that was graceful and calm—so much so that it seemed resigned. And her lips were curved up just enough so that she looked sweet and soft and lovely...but it did not reach her eyes.
And then there was the shouting and the stomping from earlier. He hadn’t been well able to make out what she was saying, only catching bits and pieces as she muttered to herself and shouted as if she were a warrior.
But he’d heard enough, had felt it so surely on her behalf that he could have sworn he’d experienced the injustice and disappointments himself. And now he had an inkling why.
“Miss Grayson,” Damian said as they reached her and Prudence. “I would like for you to meet our host, my uncle, the Marquess of Ainsley.”
She curtsied, her head dipped low, but she could not quite hide the pink stain that tinged her neck and cheeks.
She was embarrassed. He supposed he could understand that, but it still rankled that she did not meet his gaze when she straightened, that when she returned his greeting, her voice was muted, her smile gone, and that fire in her eyes nowhere to be seen.
This lady before him, the one with her eyes cast low and her very essence subdued and —this was the spinster headmistress he’d heard so much about.
But it was the lively, vivacious, angry, passionate lady he’d seen earlier that he wanted to meet.
That was the woman he wished to wed.
Chapter Four
Madeline had suffered hours of pure torture, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
A servant was going about the room snuffing out candles for the party game that was about to begin.
The room was nearly dark as a maid and footman prepared the punch bowl atop a table in the middle of the room. Even in the dim lighting, Madeline was keenly aware of his attention. She could feel the marquess’s gaze on her as surely as if he were prodding her with an elbow, but she refused to look up. All evening, and all throughout dinner, she had managed to avoid meeting his gaze, but she felt its pull. She knew he was staring—perhaps, glaring—and she suspected that everyone else noticed as well.
Prudence certainly had. “Are you ever going to tell me why Uncle Edward won’t cease looking at you like that?”
“Like what?” she said.
“Like you’re a riddle he cannot solve.”
“Is he?” she asked as she turned away.
Prudence huffed in irritation, and it was easy to understand why. In general, Madeline did not believe in feigning ignorance to avoid a difficult conversation, but surely this situation constituted an exception.
Prudence was not happy to let the topic lie. Madeline could see it in her pursed lips, and her furrowed brow, and the way she kept glancing back and forth between Madeline and the marquess as though she could puzzle out the mystery of why he wouldn’t stop watching her through sheer will.
“With the marquess it’s often difficult to know,” Prudence said, her voice hesitant. “With that thick brow and the stern features, he might look angry, but I assure you he is not.”
Madeline shot her friend a quick look. Prudence sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone.
Madeline really ought to explain why the marquess would be so horrified at the sight of her, so curious and annoyed and...
She risked a peek and glanced away again quickly.
Well, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking whenever he peered over this way. Prudence was right that he was difficult to read. But Madeline had to assume that whatever it was he was thinking about her...it could not be good.
“Perhaps he’s seen you somewhere before and is trying to place you,” Prudence offered.
Madeline nibbled on her lower lip. He definitely had seen her before, and in rare form at that. But how to tell her beloved former student that she’d temporarily lost her mind and threw a temper tantrum in the snow? How to explain that for the first time in years she’d given in to her emotions, only to have a witness in the form of one of the most powerful men in all of England?
“There can be only one explanation,” Prudence murmured beside her. “I do believe he’s smitten with you, Miss Grayson.”
Her tone was teasing but Madeline tensed. Prudence had gotten it all wrong. He wasn’t intrigued, he was horrified. No doubt wondering how best to kick her out of his house.
“I do hope Miss Farthington won’t be too disappointed,” Prudence added.
Madeline glanced up at her friend at that. “I do not think she has anything to worry about.”
And indeed, she likely did not. From the little she’d spoken with Miss Farthington, the woman seemed like perfection itself. Aside from that whiff of scandal with her broken engagement, Miss Farthington seemed like an enchanting young lady—poised, educated, and kind, if her smile and eyes were enough to go by. And on top of all that, she had the connections and breeding to make her the perfect wife. Miss Farthington would make a fine match for any gentleman.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Damian called out to the group of their friends and limited family who filled the drawing room now that dinner had ended. “Take your places, if you please.”
“I cannot believe we’re playing this game,” Miss Farthington said with a delighted laugh.
Prudence flashed her a smile. “My husband does indeed enjoy his fun.”
“And music, I’ve heard,” Miss Farthington said.
Madeline shot her a quick look but realized quickly that the young lady was not judging Damian for his ambitions to open a conservatory of his own.
“Oh, indeed,” Prudence said. “I hope no one here is too tired from their journey because after games, Damian will undoubtedly insist on everyone singing carols.”
Miss Farthington agreed enthusiastically but Madeline remained quiet. She was starting to think the muscles in her cheeks might crack if she had to keep this calm smile in place much longer.
She was certain she would soon burst into flames if the marquess did not stop staring at her with such intensity. She had no doubt he was curious about her. Maybe even appalled by her. She remembered the expression in his eyes when he’d offered to help her, the way he’d so nimbly and efficiently saved her from the sleet and the snow...
There had been nothing cruel nor callous about him. So perhaps it was not revulsion in his stare, perhaps it was something more like pity.
She was certain that if she returned his gaze she would have her answer.
But she did not dare.
“I am curious,” Miss Farthington said, linking arms with her as they followed the others to the table where the game of snap-dragon had been set up. “Were you acquainted with Lord Ainsley before this gathering?”
Madeline’s throat grew tight. “No, I have not had the honor before today.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not completely.
“Hmm,” the petite brunette hummed. “He seems quite fascinated by you.”
Alarm had Madeline freezing midstep and as they were linked, Miss Farthington paused beside her. “He is not—he does not—that is—”
Oh drat. Her wide-eyed gaze met Miss Farthington’s entertained one and Madeline let out a sigh of exasperation.
&n
bsp; What was wrong with her today? She rarely got flustered, and never lost her composure to such an extent that she floundered for words.
She blamed it on the marquess. Even now, in the near dark, as an excited crowd whispered and giggled around them, preparing for a holiday party game, he was still watching her.
She knew because she could feel it.
After taking a deep breath, she faced Miss Farthington and tried again. “I would not say fascinated. No doubt he is curious as to what I am doing here.”
She gave Miss Farthington a rueful smile, but the other woman had cocked her head to the side as she studied her. “No, I do not think that is it.”
Madeline flinched. It seemed her new friend was not to be fooled. But then, Miss Farthington had likely come to this gathering with the sole hope of catching the marquess’s eye, and now, rather than fawn over the lovely, well-connected, and utterly marriable Miss Farthington, he was paying attention to her.
Of course the lady was intrigued.
Madeline huffed. She would have been flattered if she could believe for one second that this attention was of the admiring sort.
“Then what is it, Miss Grayson?” Prudence asked. “We are all so curious to know.”
Madeline was saved by Damian’s shout for everyone to hurry along so the game could begin. Prudence sighed in exasperation beside her. But really, now was not the time to explain. Though...even if they were alone and not surrounded by a roomful of guests, she wasn’t certain she knew how to explain. Or if she would.
Prudence might not judge her for losing all sense of dignity, but she could not forgive herself. Why had she had to go and drop her guard like that? She’d exposed herself, just as surely as if she had stripped down to her undergarments right then and there.
She might as well have. Being naked couldn’t have made her embarrassment any worse. No, this humiliation was the most severe she could imagine, and to think...she had an entire fortnight ahead of her until Christmastide was over and she could politely make her way back home.
Prudence hovered beside her as Miss Grayson took her place around the table. Damian had insisted they play snap-dragon, though she suspected not a single person in this room wished to be set aflame.
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 56
