Lord Fairhurst’s gaze studied the pair for several long minutes as they rode toward their stables and disappeared from view. “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”
Gwendolyn could feel her face redden. “Went well?
Compared to what? The defeat of Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo?” She strove to make her tone match his, but it was difficult. “Now can you not see that your idea is completely ridiculous? Mrs. Merrick nearly swallowed her tongue when you forced her to acknowledge my presence. And we both know if you had not been here she would have ridden past me without so much as a glance in my direction.”
“She would not dare snub you with me by your side,”
Lord Fairhurst smirked.
“I do not like Mrs. Merrick and it galls me to court her approval.”
“You have your pride and I respect that, but you must also realize you will have eat a bit of humble pie if you wish to be accepted. It is my understanding that Mrs.
Merrick holds a great deal of social power within this little closed society. If you win her over, then others will no doubt follow.” A delighted smile burst upon his handsome face. “The first time is always the most difficult. I’m sure it will be easier the next time you face her.”
Gwendolyn’s fingers folded into a fist of frustration.
He made it sound so simple and she was angry at herself for wanting to believe it. “You are delusional. I cannot imagine an exchange of conversation with that woman that would not be drowned out by the sound of Mrs.
Merrick’s teeth grinding.”
“I am not delusional.” He slowed his horse to match her pace, pulling closer. “I just like a challenge.”
“At my expense.” An odd rawness scraped at the back of Gwendolyn’s throat, but she managed to force the hardness into her voice. “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, my lord. I urge you to reconsider before things go too far array.”
They had reached a small wooden bridge. The horses clattered over it, making further conversation impossible. Yet somehow Gwendolyn doubted this would be the end of the discussion.
When they reached the other side, Lord Fairhurst slowed his mount, then signaled Gwendolyn to do the same. She followed him as he veered into a clearing, halted and dismounted. Stopping her mare, Gwendolyn kicked free of the stirrups, swung her leg over the pommel and slid to the ground.
The viscount’s groom appeared within moments to take her mare’s reins. He led the animal to a tree where she noted Lord Fairhurst’s horse was already secured.
“This will never succeed if you keep fighting me, Miss Ellingham,” the viscount declared.
A light, warm breeze fluttered through the trees around them. Lord Fairhurst had removed his hat; the wind rustled the golden waves of his hair onto his brow. Gwendolyn resisted the most ridiculous urge to reach up and brush it back into place.
“I am not fighting you, my lord, I am merely trying to prevent myself, and you, a crushing embarrassment.”
He gazed at her in a subtle, serious manner. “I have given this a considerable amount of thought and urge you to do the same. After hearing about the incident, I believe that you are not really ruined.”
“Not ruined?” Gwendolyn let out an exasperated sigh.
The sun had moved higher in the sky and was beating down on her straw bonnet, heating her head and face.
“Then I have been shunned these four years for no particular reason?”
“I know all about Berkshire. Your aunt, the inn, the shopping. Everything.” He leaned a shoulder against a tree trunk. “Your reputation is tarnished, yet salvageable.”
“The shopping?” She knitted her brows together in confusion. Shopping? The memory returned in a flood and she threw back her head, filling her lungs with the warm, tangy air. “I had almost forgotten. My behavior was scrutinized and conjectured upon and the catalog of sins were so numerous ’tis hard to remember everything.
I now recall there was a particular group of women who seemed most offended that I had the effrontery to visit the local shops after my aunt’s death and insisted it was the most grave sin of all. I think that Mrs. Merrick was among them.”
He crossed his arms, his coat stretching over his broad shoulders. “I agree that scandal can take on a life of its own, how the facts are exaggerated until they resemble very little of the truth.”
His tone was calm and thoughtful and she got the distinct expression that he was speaking from experience.
“But there was truth in the stories,” Gwendolyn replied. “I did stay at the inn, on my own, after my aunt unexpectedly died. So the scandal was born from truth.
Not precisely as it was reported, of course, but then where would the fun be? What would everyone have to whisper and speculate about and be superiorly disapproving of me if only the truth were revealed? How could they, in good conscience, declare me a pariah unless I were a wretched person?”
Lord Fairhurst sighed and rubbed his neck. “I am not unsympathetic to your plight, Miss Ellingham. Unfortunately, when an individual reaches her lowest point that becomes the most opportune time for others to prove how beastly they can act.”
“I did go shopping, that much was true.” Setting her lips in a firm line, Gwendolyn kept her eyes forward. “I bought a bonnet.”
He shot her a look of total surprise. “A bonnet?”
“Yes. I paid four guineas for it, a ridiculous sum considering how small and dainty a hat it was, but the moment I saw it, I knew Dorothea would adore it. I remember it had a peacock feather on the band and was designed to be worn at a rakish angle.”
“The hat was for your sister?”
“She was very upset that she had not been allowed to accompany me on the trip to London and I promised her a special treat.” Gwendolyn turned her head, forcing her eyes toward him. “With my aunt gone, I knew I’d never get to London and I was loathed to return home empty handed. I also bought a fine set of sable paint brushes for Emma with the rest of my pocket money. She fancies herself an artist and I will vouch for her talent.”
The viscount’s green eyes lit up with speculation. “The shopping would be considered a lapse in judgement by those lacking the complete story, but I think staying on at the inn alone was the most damning. Was there no one in the village to offer you assistance in your time of need?”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “The vicar made a lukewarm attempt to bring me into his home. But his house was very small and he had a large family. His wife had recently given birth to her sixth child. I felt it was wrong to impose upon them and strain their already overex-tended household.
“I expected my uncle to arrive the next day. When he did not, I thought he would be there the next. And so forth. All too soon, seven days had passed and I had been alone all that time.”
He fastened his intense eyes upon her. “We all make mistakes.”
“Ah, but the results are not always so painful and punishing.”
A flicker of emotion crossed over the viscount’s face.
“You must trust that I know what I am doing. I will not allow you to be hurt by anyone. I give you my word. But if you have any hope of overcoming this scandal, you must stand up to these people or else you will forever concede them the upper hand.”
Halting beside her, he reached for her gloved hand, turned it palm up, then lifted it to his lips. Eyes locked on hers, he kissed the exposed flesh of her wrist. A strange tingling warmed her skin, the sensation bold and exotic. She felt herself softening, weakening.
Gracious—he was an expert at persuasion and seduction!
In a flash of panic, Gwendolyn broke away and stalked toward the horses. She walked as haughtily as she could manage, wanting her body language to portray her rejection of his argument, her mistrust of his motives.
“Please, Miss Ellingham, do not make this any more difficult for yourself. We both know that in this instance I will get what I want.”
The words hung in the air as they remounted. She turn
ed her mare toward home. There was an oddly tense silence between them as they rode and Gwendolyn was barely conscious of the terrain they passed. Her mind was replaying the events of the morning, focusing on the viscount’s determination to bring her back into society.
And the realization that she was going to have to let him try.
She was worried. She did not trust Lord Fairhurst. She did not trust his motives or his methods and most worri-some of all, she could not determine if he was set on a course of seduction or retaliation. Either one would not bode well for her or her family.
A shiver shot through her. Though she was firmly seated upon her horse, Gwendolyn felt a touch off-balance. She shifted slightly. It was impossible to understand the feelings that enveloped her. Terror and trepidation coupled with restless excitement.
Yes, excitement. She was poised to allow the man who she thought so handsome and appealing, who was well beyond her reach socially, not to mention married to another, to launch her back into society.
It was sheer madness.
* * *
Jason lifted the oars from the water, turned them at an angle and dipped them into the lake, pulling hard. The sleek rowboat glided effortlessly through the calm water, cutting a smooth path. He felt a tug in the muscles of his arms and shoulders, but pulled again, pleased to have the opportunity to exercise.
He often turned to physical activity when he needed to clear his head, shift his focus. The only thing that would make the afternoon more enjoyable was a companion, sitting across from him in the boat, smiling and flirting.
A young, pretty, female companion.
A picture of Gwendolyn Ellingham entered his mind.
The loveliness of her features, her remarkable dark eyes, the beautiful shimmer of her rich, dark hair. Yet it was not only her beauty. There was something about Gwendolyn Ellingham that appealed to him on a far deeper level.
Who knows what would happen if she were here with him now? Jason smiled with self-deprecation as he imagined her looking over the side of the boat, gauging the depth of the water. If he annoyed her, as he always seemed to do, she would most likely dive overboard and swim for shore.
He then imagined her dripping wet, her simple muslin gown clinging to every sensual curve. His body reacted instantly to the image, hardening, tightening, his breathing growing heavier. Her manner was never brazen or suggestive; she never flirted or teased him, which had the strange effect of making him want to touch her even more.
He had not been able to get her out of his mind since their morning ride two days ago. Unknowingly his interest in her had somehow progressed to something far more than gaining her assistance with navigating the local society. He wanted to set to rights the wrong that had been done to her by the locals; he wanted to force them to accept that she was a lady who was as worthy as any of them.
He knew she doubted his ability to achieve this goal, which goaded him harder to succeed. He was waiting for the perfect invitation to orchestrate his plan and fortuitously it had arrived earlier in the day. An invitation to a ball given by none other than Mr. and Mrs. Hollingsworth. He could only imagine the shouts of protests when Miss Ellingham learned she was to accompany him to this very grand affair.
“My lord!”
Jason lifted his head and glanced toward the distant shore. His valet, Pierce, stood awkwardly at the edge of the water, waving something aloof.
“Go away,” Jason shouted. “I am enjoying my solitude.”
“I have brought the post from London,” the valet replied.
Jason quickly realized the item in Pierce’s hand was a letter. With a forlorn sigh, he rowed to shore. As he neared the shallow end of the lake, Jason hoisted the oars into the boat, paying no attention to the water dripping on his breeches.
“What was so important it could not wait?” Jason asked, then answered his own question when he recognized the bold strokes and distinct handwriting on the envelope Pierce held. It was from his twin brother.
“It was most fortunate that I arrived in the main foyer just as one of the stable lads brought in the post,” the valet said. “I recognized Lord Fairhurst’s seal immediately and decided it would be difficult to explain how you could be writing a letter to yourself from London while residing here.”
The valet’s comments were a none too subtle reminder that he had not informed Jasper of his plan to impersonate him while at the estate. It was even more galling to admit Pierce was right. It would have been a disaster if one of the servants had seen the letter, or even worse, if Ardley had inadvertently come across it.
Jason knew he would have to write to his brother at once and inform him of his actions, if for no other reason than to avoid any other mishaps. Still, Jason hesitated because he suspected his twin would not approve of the plan. Over the years, Jasper had become more and more stark in his manner and behavior, taking the duties he assumed toward the family and the family reputation to extremes.
Jasper had taken on the role of head of the household, even though their father, the Earl of Stafford, was very much alive. The earl made no objection to his son and heir assuming these responsibilities, since he wasn’t all that interested in doing them himself.
Jason thought it was commendable that his twin was considered a man of integrity, that he was strong, capable, honest and forthright. A veritable saint. Yet he was also unyielding, priggish, stoic and impossibly restrictive.
Ever yone in the family—including their mother and sister—had agreed that overall Jasper had not changed for the better.
Thankfully, he was lucky to have recently acquired the love of an extraordinary woman to temper his somber, dull attitude. Gradually, Jasper was starting to return to a more balanced view of life, to realize it was possible to live his life happily without always getting his own way.
But most important for Jason, his brother was learning to accept others without always having to judge them and find them wanting when they did not meet his own lofty standards. The lessening of this impulse to pass judgment was the main reason Jason now stood a chance of repairing his strained relationship with his brother.
And more than ever, he wanted to prove his worth by fixing this problem at the estate.
“You were right to bring this to me immediately, Pierce. I shall write a reply now, but you will need to post it for me in Selby, which is ten miles from here.” Jason stuffed the parchment into his coat pocket. “Once that is done, I will pen a letter to be delivered to the Ellingham household. For Miss Gwendolyn’s eyes only.”
Then with an invigorated sense of purpose, Jason strode toward the house, his mind intent on how he would phrase his various letters.
Gwendolyn paced her bedchamber, her pulse wildly clamoring. Lord Fairhurst should be arriving at any moment. Her aunt and uncle and Dorothea had left almost a half-hour ago. Though the viscount had disagreed, she had decided it would be best to keep her appearance at the ball a secret from her relatives. Except for her sisters. Both Dorothea and Emma knew of her plans and had embraced the idea with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Their maid, Lucy, was also privy to the secret and she was overly excited at the notion of Gwendolyn sneaking off to the ball, with the handsome viscount as her escort.
Though none voiced it, Gwendolyn repeatedly reminded herself he was the handsome married viscount.
Gwendolyn blew out her breath and resumed her pacing, knowing this little adventure would end before it had even started if she could not calm her nerves. She stopped briefly in front of her mirror, checking her appearance, pleased that at least she was looking her best.
She had most adamantly drawn the line at allowing the viscount to pay for her clothing. Fortunately, Gwendolyn possessed an eye for style and a flair for design.
Staying home from all the parties had given her more time to read La Belle Assemble over the years, making her something of a fashion expert. Dorothea, who was talented with a needle, had generously offered her help and Gwendolyn had appreciated her
sister’s support.
It had taken a good amount of creativity and some skillful stitching, but between the two of them, they had managed to transform an outdated satin ball gown into an exquisite, fashionable dress.
The blue satin fabric was embroidered with small gold flowers and tiny green leaves at the hem. The colors made Gwendolyn’s skin look creamy, her eyes vibrant.
The fit of the dress emphasized that she was every inch a shapely woman. It showcased her ample breasts and slender waist, and the plunging neckline highlighted the delicate turn of her shoulders.
Her hair was pinned up in a simple knot with a few strategically placed curls trailing down her neck. She wore a delicate gold chain that had belonged to her mother close to her throat and the matching earbobs dangled from her earlobes, glittering each time she moved. Gwendolyn marveled that her sister’s inspired design gave her an almost fairylike delicacy even though she was a tall woman.
“The housekeeper just told me that he’s here, Miss Gwendolyn.” The maid’s eyes were wide with excitement.
Gwendolyn’s stomach clenched. Why, oh why, had she ever agreed to this ridiculous scheme?
“Wait.” Emma rushed over. She lifted her arms and pinched Gwendolyn’s pale cheeks, then fluffed her raven curls. “You look so beautiful, Gwen. I wish I were going too.”
“Oh, Emma, I would dearly love to have your friendly face among the crowd tonight.” Gwendolyn hugged her youngest sister tightly, then turned and hurried down the stairs.
She greeted Lord Fairhurst hastily, too nervous to say more than a brief hello, too agitated to react as he eyed her up and down, appreciation growing in his gaze.
They traveled to the ball in near silence. When the carriage pulled into the small courtyard of the Hollingsworth home and the footman opened the door, Gwendolyn’s stomach clenched.
She knew she should feel pleased or triumphant or satisfied. She was about to re-enter society on the arm of most influential man in the area, assuring her success.
How to Enjoy a Scandal Page 9
