Yet it was not her physical beauty that so intrigued Jason; it was the force of her presence, her spirit that seemed to fill the room. Standing tall and proud, with an expression of righteous indignity, she was the ver y essence of female power. Anyone who took her as a pretty, uncomplicated woman would be committing a grave error.
She had removed her cloak and was wrapping it around the blond, who was now shivering. “We are leaving,” she announced. “I trust you are at least enough of a gentleman to hold your tongue over this most unfortunate matter.”
Jason was accustomed to making quick decisions. He was not about to let them walk away without some sort of explanation. Yet he did realize this was hardly the most opportune moment for a lengthy conversation.
“This is far from over, ladies. I expect you both to call on me tomorrow. At noon.”
There was a pause of silence. This time the blond broke it. “You need not drag Gwendolyn into this mess.
I will come alone.”
Jason raised his brow. “I would be a fool indeed, if I received you without a witness. I insist that you both attend me.”
“You will not receive me,” the shadow stated bluntly.
“Excuse me?”
“I am not received in polite society,” she repeated in a bland tone. “Ask anyone. Mrs. Hollingsworth, Mrs. Tiltondown, or even one of your staff. I do not relish coming all this way only to have the door slammed in my face.”
Jason blinked, then refocused on her face. She did not appear to be lying, yet her matter-of-fact pronouncement was unsettling. Not received in polite society? Why? What could she have possibly done to warrant such treatment?
“I do not care about the opinions of others nor do I follow the dictates set down by the rigid rules of society,” he replied.
“That’s not what I have heard.”
Damn! She was right. His brother Jasper was a most up-standing, proper fellow, with a moral outlook and attitude that bordered on priggish. Thank heavens he now had a wife who would temper his rigid tendencies.
“I am unconcerned with what you have heard,” Jason stated, as he tried to bluff his way to credibility. “I give you my word that you shall be admitted to my drawing room tomorrow at noon and I expect you to comply with my request. If not, I shall be forced to come to you and that would put me in a foul temper.”
That got her attention. She stared at him for a long moment. “We shall be here at noon,” she finally replied, nodding her head.
“Excellent.” His lips quirked. Jason liked getting his own way.
The women disappeared from his room in silence.
Jason left his bed and hastily dressed. He glanced at the clock and allowed five full minutes to pass before he stepped out of his bedchamber. Hurrying, he descended the main staircase, slipped out a side door, then halted.
His eyes scanned the area, quickly finding what he sought. Jason let out a loud curse when he realized his recent, uninvited house guests were traveling on foot.
Grinding his teeth together in annoyance, and sincerely hoping they were not going too far, he set off after them.
After following them at a safe, undetectable distance for nearly an hour he realized there was no need to be so cautious. The pair were too absorbed in their harshly whispered conversation to take much notice of their surroundings.
The open pasture they crossed eventually gave way to a dirt path, that lead past a cottage and barn, then the path turned to cobblestone as they entered a short drive.
The house that stood at the end was not overly large, yet was stately in design.
Not a soul was in sight.
He stored the information away in his head, knowing it might prove useful in the future. That was partly the reason he had trailed the women to their home, to discover all he could about them. The equally important other reason was to ensure that no harm came to them as they traipsed about the countryside, alone, in the very early morning hours.
Jason Barrington was many things, but above all, he was a gentleman.
Chapter Three
Soft streaks of pale sunlight crept in through the thin draperies while an open window allowed a gentle breeze to flutter into the chamber. Gwendolyn felt the coolness on her cheek and slowly opened her eyes. As she gradually came awake, she hoped the bizarre images in her mind would turn out to be a bad dream, but her cloak was thrown hastily over a chair instead of being hung in her wardrobe, evidence of her recent nighttime excursion. Gwendolyn let out a long, slow breath. It was all true.
Her wildly impetuous sister had tried to entrap the viscount into marriage and the plan had backfired dreadfully. Even more alarming was the acknowledgement that they were not out of the woods yet.
The viscount could make life very difficult for them if he so chose and Gwendolyn knew it would be her responsibility to somehow prevent that from happening.
Unfortunately she was hardly at her best this morning.
It had been very late when they had returned home and Gwendolyn had retired to her bed with a hard knot of tension in her stomach. She spent those few hours before dawn grappling with the situation that faced them, trying to decide how to dissuade the viscount from retaliating against them.
There was a discreet knock at the door and the maid, Lucy, entered the bedchamber. “Are you ready to get dressed, Miss Gwendolyn? Or would you prefer that I come back after I’ve attended to Miss Dorothea and Miss Emma?”
“See to my sisters first, please,” Gwendolyn replied.
Since their Uncle Fletcher had an eye toward econ-omy, all three sisters shared the maid’s services. In an effort to be fair, each morning Lucy alternated which of the girls she went to first, but more often than not, Gwendolyn sent the maid to her sisters, preferring to be on her own.
Gwendolyn tried to rest after Lucy departed, but it was impossible. Giving up, she went to her wardrobe and scrutinized the contents, deciding to wear one of her newer gowns, knowing she would need a boost of confidence today. After a few minutes, she selected a white muslin day dress trimmed with blue satin ribbon. When Lucy returned, the maid finished fastening the buttons on Gwendolyn’s lower back, then arranged her dark hair in a loose upsweep.
Gwendolyn was the last to join the rest of the family at breakfast, and she tried hard to appear as if nothing was amiss. She had not slept well, nor from the look of her, had Dorothea. Though dressed in one of her prettiest gowns, a simple muslin dress of pale pink, trimmed with darker pink satin, Dorothea’s face carried the same hints of fatigue as her own.
Emma buttered her toast, then reached for the jam and Gwendolyn tried to pretend she was unaware of her youngest sister’s intense gaze. It was obvious to anyone who cared to notice that Emma was near to bursting with curiosity and questions. Fortunately, she was wise enough not to say anything while their aunt and uncle sat at the table with them.
Aunt Mildred accepted a plate piled high with ham and several slices of toast from their serving girl, then asked for a second cup of coffee. Gwendolyn tried to engage their aunt in small talk, since Emma seemed cautious about speaking and Dorothea was depressingly silent. Thankfully, Aunt Mildred had always been a woman who relished the sound of her own voice, so it was not difficult to keep her talking.
Uncle Fletcher never spoke at the breakfast table, though Gwendolyn was certain he listened, even if only with mild interest. Gwendolyn found she had little appetite, but she managed to force down a few bites of toast.
Finally, Uncle Fletcher set down his coffee cup and pushed back his chair. “I’ve business matters to attend to this morning and an appointment with Mr. Ardley this afternoon. I shall see you all at dinner. Have a pleasant day.”
Gwendolyn sucked in her breath, certain the mention of Mr. Ardley would elicit a comment from her aunt about the viscount, since Ardley was steward at the manor. But Aunt Mildred was too caught up in the telling of some ridiculous tale about Mrs. Hollingsworth to take note of her husband’s remarks.
With their uncl
e gone from the room, Emma seemed to find her tongue. She asked Aunt Mildred a question that launched the older woman on a new topic. Gwendolyn used the distracting opportunity to lean over and whisper to Dorothea.
“Uncle Fletcher mentioned an appointment with Mr. Ardley this afternoon. We must make certain we arrive at Moorehead Manor precisely at noon, so we can take our leave before Uncle gets to the estate. If we are lucky enough to remain unseen, we might be able to keep our meeting a secret.”
“Is it really necessar y for us to go to manor today?”
Dorothea asked.
Gwendolyn reached over and took her sister’s hand.
“Lord Fairhurst was rather insistent. He said he would come to us if we did not honor our promise to meet him and I for one take him at his word.”
Dorothea’s blue eyes darkened with distress. “But how would he know where to find us? We did not reveal our full names to him last night.”
“He knows that you are Dorothea and I am Gwendolyn. The infamous Gwendolyn, who is not received by our local society.” Gwendolyn exhaled sharply, wondering if it had been wise to tell him that fact. “The viscount strikes me as an intelligent man. With only a few choice questions, he will easily learn all about us, including where we live.”
“I suppose you are right.” Dorothea glanced away, tears welling in her eyes. “I am so sorry that I made such a muck of it all.”
“It could have been far worse. What if one of the servants had found you in the viscount’s bed? The disgrace would be complete, your ruin assured.” Gwendolyn squeezed her sister’s hand. “I have thought about it long and hard and concluded it is most doubtful Lord Fairhurst will want any of the details of the incident revealed. He will keep this secret safe, if only to guard his own reputation.”
“Perhaps.” Dorothea looked away, her expression worried. “Lord Fairhurst is only half of our problem. How are we both going to slip away without telling Aunt Mildred of our destination? We need something to keep her occupied.”
“Or someone,” Gwendolyn added, casting her gaze at Emma. She would have preferred to keep her youngest sister removed from all of this drama, but she had no choice. “Emma is due for a fitting at the dressmaker’s later this morning. Would you mind taking her, Aunt Mildred?”
“Not at all. It will give me a chance to check on the progress of my own new gown.” Aunt Mildred liked nothing more than feeling needed.
Emma’s mulish expression let Gwendolyn know she was not at all pleased with the arrangement. Far more clever, and knowing, than their aunt, Emma was quick to see that she was being used as a diversion.
Please, Gwendolyn mouthed silently to Emma as their aunt concentrated on finishing the food on her plate. We need your help.
Emma lifted both brows, paused, then nodded in agreement.
Knowing she would somehow have to pay back the favor later, Gwendolyn was still relieved to have her sister’s cooperation. She took a fortifying sip of her now lukewarm coffee and tried to calculate how soon she and Dorothea could slip away from the house.
The morning had been warm, but a brisk wind swept across the open fields, keeping Gwendolyn and Dorothea cool. They walked at a steady pace, speaking occasionally.
“I wish we could have taken the carriage,” Dorothea grumbled. “It is so much more elegant. If we aren’t careful, we shall arrive at the manor looking sweaty and disheveled, despite this breeze.”
“Aunt Mildred and Emma have the carriage,”
Gwendolyn replied. “It was either ride or walk and we both agreed it would take too long to change into our riding habits.”
Secretly she agreed it was rather lowering having to walk, but not only because of the need to preserve their appearance. Gwendolyn knew the importance of looking the part of a well-bred lady when paying a social call, especially to someone with a superior social standing. Arriving in their uncle’s old-fashioned yet finely appointed carriage would have made a far more elegant, respectable statement than arriving on foot.
Initially anxious about not being late, Gwendolyn now experienced a moment of regret as they reached the front drive of the manor. She glanced up at the sky and tried to calculate the time by the sun’s position, worried about arriving too early.
Their steps slowed noticeably as they drew closer to the house until finally there was no way to delay their arrival any further. Dorothea lifted the shiny brass knocker on the front door. The sound seemed to echo through the large foyer beyond it. Standing beside her, Gwendolyn suddenly felt cold in the sultry summer air, wondering how she would keep her pride and dignity, if she were denied entrance.
Four years was a long time to be ignored by society, but knowing she had little choice, Gwendolyn had adapted. She quickly learned how to avoid situations that afford others an opportunity to openly snub or ridicule her. It had meant cutting herself off from nearly everyone of consequence in their small community, but after the initial feelings of loneliness and isolation had worn off, Gwendolyn realized she was surviving.
She was not a complete pariah. The merchants all spoke to her, as did the vicar and his wife, as did Mr. Ardley. But they were the minority. It was an unspoken rule that she did not attend parties or balls or afternoon teas. She did not make social calls and when visitors came to their home, she did not stay in the parlor. On the rare occasion when there was an unavoidable, intolerable encounter, she had learned how to cope with the moment and then later, push it from her mind, to distance herself from the unpleasantness.
But there would be no avoidance, no distancing today.
She would walk boldly into what might prove to be her most scathing rebuke to date.
The butler answered Dorothea’s knock and it took every ounce of Gwendolyn’s inner strength to appear confident. “Lord Fairhurst is expecting us,” Gwendolyn said in what to her ears was an overly loud tone.
The butler made no response. He regarded them both for a tense moment, then opened the door wide.
“This way, please.”
They stepped inside, out of the gusting breeze. Gwendolyn’s emotions were rioting. At least the viscount had kept his word, yet she could not help but wonder what wild tales he had been told about her past.
“Are you frightened?” Gwendolyn whispered, feeling her sister trembling beside her.
Dorothea let out a nervous giggle. “I am too numb to be frightened,” she replied. They followed the butler at a considerable distance, so as not to be overheard.
“Numb this morning, yet last night you found the courage to sneak into this house and the viscount’s bed,” Gwendolyn whispered.
“That was different. Last night I had a goal to achieve.
Today I wish only to forget it ever happened.” Dorothea had the grace to look slightly chagrined. “I too have given a great deal of thought to how we should act and I think it would be best if when we meet the viscount, we pretend last night never happened.”
Gwendolyn sighed, wishing it were that simple. “Ignoring a social gaffe to be polite is common practice, yet this is hardly equitable to forgetting to wear the proper gloves or using the wrong fork when eating the fish course at a formal dinner. We must tackle this head on and convince Lord Fairhurst that he is the one who will benefit most by keeping the incident confidential.”
For a quick moment Dorothea looked as if she intended to argue the point, but then her chin lowered and she meekly stepped closer to Gwendolyn.
Lord Fairhurst was standing by the window, looking out on the lovely gardens when they entered. He turned, dismissing the butler, then motioned them to the settee near the unlit fireplace.
Gwendolyn fought to obey. She wanted to remain on her feet, believing that standing gave her more control, yet thought it prudent not to antagonize him so soon upon their arrival. She sank gracefully on the edge of the sofa and Dorothea copied her movements.
Lord Fairhurst took the chair opposite them. His face was stern, his stare intense. Though Gwendolyn found his scrutiny unsettling, sh
e was determined not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. The idea that he was deliberately trying to intimidate her and Dorothea had the opposite effect. She stiffened her spine.
He was not what she had expected. Last night, it had been too dark to obser ve him. She had heard he was stiff, proper, a stickler for proprieties. However, in the light of day he seemed older, more sophisticated, and Gwendolyn feared that under that polite facade lurked a hard-headed male.
“First, I wish to know the nature of your relationship to each other,” Lord Fairhurst said.
He was all business. A part of Gwendolyn was relieved there would be no polite, meaningless little conversation that was so awkward to sustain during social calls. Still, she was put slightly off balance by this direct approach, knowing it might be to her advantage to ease into the substance of the conversation gradually, after establish-ing a congenial rapport.
“Dorothea and I are sisters,” Gwendolyn said calmly, wondering if he already knew the truth and was testing her honesty or if he had refrained from inquiring about their background.
“Sisters?” He looked from one to the other as though he were struggling to make the connection. “You do not resemble each other in the least.”
“That is often the case with siblings,” Gwendolyn responded defensively, imagining for the first time how striking they must appear with Dorothea’s pale blond curls an almost opposite contrast to her own dark straight locks.
“Not always.” The viscount laughed, and for an instant, the aura of sobriety was lifted.
His innate charm was almost overpowering. Gwendolyn found herself starting to answer his smile, then pulled herself back to reality. She forced her gaze down to her shoes, knowing it was utterly ridiculous to find him attractive or appealing.
How to Enjoy a Scandal Page 4
