by Beers, Laura
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I am not entirely fond of you, either.”
“Is that so?” he asked, amused.
“We share an equal disdain for one another,” she said with half of a shrug.
“I am glad there is honesty between us.”
“As am I, but don’t you think it would be best if we at least appear to enjoy one another’s company?”
“For what purpose?
“Because I am not going anywhere,” she replied. “There is too much at stake for me to just give up.”
“You are rather a stubborn young woman, are you not?”
“It is one of my many endearing qualities.”
“I would consider it more irksome than endearing.”
Miss Bentley glanced over at him and smiled, transforming her face into something extraordinary. “Careful, my lord, or you may discover that I am not just the country bumpkin you think I am.”
“I truly doubt that, Miss Bentley.”
6
Roswell leaned his shoulder against one of the columns that framed the ballroom and watched as Miss Bentley danced with Cosgrove. That traitor, he thought. His friend knew his lowly opinion of Miss Bentley, but he asked her to dance anyway. What was worse was that he looked enamored, making him look like a blasted fool.
How could he possibly rid himself of Miss Bentley? He kept asking that question over and over. Roswell wasn’t entirely sure why her mere presence bothered him, but it did. Every time she came around, he felt himself acutely aware of her presence, which was absurd. Yet he couldn’t seem to pry his eyes away from her.
“Botheration,” he muttered under his breath.
Roswell had just uttered the word when Lord Townsend approached him looking amused.
“Why are you glaring at the dancers?”
“I am not.”
Lord Townsend followed his gaze. “Pray tell, why are you glaring at Miss Bentley, then?”
“I’m not glaring.”
“No?” Townsend asked, mirth in his voice. “Staring, perhaps?”
“I find it odd that Miss Bentley has not lacked for any dance partners this evening.”
“And why is that?
“She has no prospects.”
Townsend clucked his tongue. “But the last time we spoke, you failed to mention how lovely she is.”
“Does it matter?”
“It does.”
Roswell watched as Miss Bentley’s face lit up in response to something Cosgrove said, and his hands clenched into tight fists.
Townsend eyed him curiously. “Why does it bother you that Cosgrove is dancing with Miss Bentley?”
“Cosgrove is a fool.”
“I won’t disagree with that, but you failed to answer my question.”
Roswell met his friend’s gaze. “Cosgrove is giving her false hope.”
“In what way?” Townsend asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Miss Bentley will be lulled into a false sense of security, but eventually her grand illusions will come crashing down upon her.”
Townsend bobbed his head. “I see, and you can see the future now?”
“I do not have to be a fortune teller to know what will happen.”
Townsend uncrossed his arms. “Why do you loathe Miss Bentley to such a degree?”
“I don’t loathe her.”
“It definitely appears that way.”
“I merely find her vexing.”
“A part of her or her whole person?”
Straightening from the column, Roswell asked his own question. “Have you had a chance to speak to Miss Bentley yet?”
“I have,” Townsend replied. “When I returned Lady Emma to your mother, I spoke to her for a few moments while you went to get a drink.”
“And what did you think?”
“I found Miss Bentley to be a charming young woman.”
Roswell huffed. “Why am I not surprised?” he asked.
Townsend gave him an exasperated look. “I must say that you are being rather petty.”
“In what way?”
“I contend that there is nothing wrong with Miss Bentley, and you have developed an unfair grudge against her.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“No?” Townsend asked. “What exactly about Miss Bentley is vexing, besides the fact that she has no prospects?”
“If you must know, she is entirely too cheery.”
“Too cheery?” Townsend questioned. “That is what you are truly going with?”
“You know how I feel about idle chitchat.” His eyes scanned the room and landed on Lady Persephone. She was a handsome enough young woman with blonde hair, a square jaw, and high cheekbones. She met his gaze and smiled coyly at him. He tipped his head in acknowledgement and turned back towards his friend.
Townsend frowned. “Why do you pay Lady Persephone any heed?” he asked. “She is haughty and pretentious.”
“She is well-mannered, has a large dowry, and comes from an impressive lineage as the eldest daughter of Lord Walmsley.”
“I agree with most of what you just said, but I still contend she is high-handed.”
“She is a genteel woman and acts appropriately for her station.”
“Please say you do not intend to be shackled to that woman for the rest of your life,” Townsend said.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You would be miserable.”
“I disagree,” he replied. “Our marriage would be based upon mutual respect.”
“Why do I feel as if you keep trying to punish yourself?” Townsend asked, giving him a knowing look.
“Leave it alone,” Roswell growled.
Townsend took a step closer, compassion in his voice. “You never want to talk about that night.”
“And you think a ball is an appropriate place to discuss it?”
“No, but you are leaving me with little choice.”
Roswell scoffed. “Good night, Townsend.” He brushed past him and walked across the ballroom. He stopped behind Lady Persephone and waited for her to acknowledge him.
She turned around with a smile on her face. “Good evening, Lord Bideford,” she murmured before dropping into a curtsy.
After he gave her a slight bow, he asked, “Would you care to join me on the veranda for a few moments?”
Lady Persephone turned her attention towards her mother, who nodded her head in approval. She brought her gaze back to meet his. “I would be honored, Lord Bideford.”
“Excellent.” He offered his arm and directed his next comments to Lady Walmsley. “I shall bring Lady Persephone back shortly.”
“Please see that you do,” Lady Walmsley replied.
Neither one of them spoke as he led her out onto the veranda. Once they were outside, he dropped his arm and turned to face her.
“How are you faring this evening?” he asked.
“I am well, my lord.”
“I am surprised to see you are sitting this set out.”
“It is not for a lack of dance partners, I can assure you of that.”
“I have no doubt.”
Lady Persephone turned her attention towards the gardens. “It is lovely out here,” she said. “The moon casts such a spell over the gardens.”
He walked over to the iron fence that lined the veranda and leaned back against it. “How is your family?”
“They are well, but I have missed your visits.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had much time for house calls.”
Lady Persephone pouted. “That is too bad.”
“Perhaps I can call on you tomorrow, assuming my meetings in the House of Lords do not run late.”
Her pout quickly formed into a smile. “That sounds lovely.”
The music came to an end, and he watched Cosgrove escort Miss Bentley to his mother. Lady Persephone followed his gaze. “I haven’t seen that young lady before this evening,” she said. “Is she a relative of yours?”
&n
bsp; “No,” he replied. “My mother is hosting Miss Bentley for the Season.”
“Is that so?” Lady Persephone asked, watching him closely. “She is a pretty little thing.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t noticed,” he lied.
Lady Persephone took a step closer to him, but still maintained proper distance. “She seems popular enough,” she said. “With any luck, she will be married off before the end of the Season.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m afraid she has no dowry, but she is determined to make a match this Season.”
“Oh,” Lady Persephone murmured. “That does constitute a problem, then.”
Roswell looked heavenward. “I have tried my best to get rid of her, but she refuses to leave.”
“Have you tried offering Miss Bentley a sum of money to leave?”
“I have not,” he replied with a shake of his head.
“If anything, you would be doing her a favor,” Lady Persephone pressed.
“Do you truly believe so?”
“Just think what that money could do for her future,” Lady Persephone said. “Besides, a young woman without a dowry has no place amongst members of Society.”
“I’m afraid we are the only two that share that attitude.”
Lady Persephone batted her eyes at him. “You will find that I am most agreeable when it comes to you.”
The music started up again and he held his hand out. “May I have this dance?”
“You may,” she said, slipping her hand into his.
Ellie woke to the sun streaming into her bedchamber and slowly blinked her eyes open. She’d had the most delightful time last night at the ball. She had danced nearly every set and had been introduced to the most wonderful gentlemen. Nothing would sour her mood this morning, she was sure of it.
A knock came at the door before it opened. Her young, red-haired lady’s maid stepped into the room with a tray in her hand. “You are finally awake,” Mary said, meeting her gaze.
“I am.”
Walking over to the dressing table, Mary put the tray down before saying, “You missed breakfast, but I did secure a tray for you.”
“That was most thoughtful of you.”
Mary solemnly turned back towards her. “Would you care to dress for the day?”
“I would.” Ellie sat up in bed and put her feet over the side. “I do appreciate your assistance.”
“You don’t need to thank me. It is my job to serve you.”
Ellie cocked her head. “May I ask how old you are?”
“I am sixteen.”
“That is rather young to be a lady’s maid, is it not?”
“My main duties consist of being a housemaid, but I was asked to assist you while you are residing here.”
“Do you enjoy working as a lady’s maid?”
Mary nodded. “Very much so, miss.”
Ellie took a moment to consider Mary, and she found herself curious about one thing. “Are you always this serious?”
“I am,” Mary replied. “My job keeps my family out of the poorhouse.”
“Is that so?”
Mary gave her a sad smile. “My stepfather passed away last year, and my mother is at home with young children.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Three.”
“Your mother must be very proud of you.”
A small smile escaped Mary’s thin lips, and Ellie felt like she had secured a small victory. “I hope that is the case,” Mary said. “She taught me how to read herself.”
“That is impressive.”
“My mother used to work in a fancy house such as this,” Mary explained. “She married one of the grooms and was fired when she started increasing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“When I turned ten, my father died after a horse trampled him.”
Ellie gasped. “That’s terrible!”
Mary clasped her hands in front of her. “It isn’t all so bad,” she remarked. “I was fortunate enough to be hired on here as a scullery maid, and I’ve worked my way up to housemaid.”
“You must be a hard worker.”
“Yes, miss.”
Ellie rose and sat at the dressing table. “I must confess that I have been without a lady’s maid for the past year.”
“But who dresses you?”
“I have learned to make do on my own.”
“And your hair?”
“Our housekeeper usually pins my hair into a tight chignon, but I am not averse to doing it myself.”
Mary walked over to the dressing table and picked up a brush. “I didn’t think it was possible for a woman of your station to do without a lady’s maid.”
“That is generally the case, but my situation changed after my father died.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” Ellie said as Mary started brushing her brown locks. “I’ve learned that it’s the little things in life that matter the most, especially since I still have more than most.”
“That is a good way to look at life.”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t always the case,” she replied. “It took losing nearly everything to change my perspective.”
Mary put the brush down and reached for the pins on the table. “I heard that Thorne assumed you were the new scullery maid.” She giggled as she placed the pins. “I would have loved to have seen his face when he recognized his error.”
“Poor man,” Ellie said. “It was an honest mistake.”
“But Thorne is so…” Her words trailed off. “I would say he is very finicky.”
“I can see that, but he has only been kind to me.”
Stepping back, Mary asked, “Would you care to dress now?”
“I would.”
Mary walked over to the armoire and opened it. “Lady Emma has supplied a few gowns for you to wear.”
“That is most gracious of her.”
Reaching in, Mary removed a jonquil gown and held it up for her inspection. “Does this gown please you?”
“It does.”
After she was dressed, Ellie walked down the hall and headed towards the drawing room. She stepped into the room, her eyes wandering over the red-papered walls. Every space on the tables and mantel over the fireplace was filled with trinkets of every size and color.
Walking over to the mantel, she picked up a decorative box and took a moment to admire the ornate markings in the wood.
Lord Bideford’s stern voice came from the doorway. “Be careful with that.”
“I have every intention to be.”
He walked further into the room. “My father gave my mother that box when he returned home from his trip to India.”
“How remarkable,” she murmured.
Lord Bideford put his hands out. “All of these trinkets came from my father,” he revealed. “He worked for the East India Trading Company before he inherited his title, and he always brought back a gift when he traveled.”
Ellie returned the box to the mantel. “I think it’s sweet that your mother has kept all of them.”
“She has,” Lord Bideford responded, giving her a pointed look. “And she knows precisely where they belong, in case one should ever go missing.”
Ellie looked at him in disbelief. “I have no intention of stealing one, if that is your concern.”
“I was just making conversation.”
“You are terrible at it.”
Lord Bideford blinked. “Do you always speak your mind?”
“I do,” she replied, smiling. “I am afraid it is another one of my many endearing traits.”
“I daresay that is not the case.”
Ellie walked over to the table and picked up a small, intricately painted blue vase. “This is lovely,” she commented.
“That vase came from China,” he informed her.
“Did your father travel there?”
Lord Bideford shook
his head. “No, but he bought it from a merchant who frequently did.”
“How marvelous would it be to visit these exotic places?” she asked as she put the vase down. “It must be quite the adventure.”
“I have no desire to spend week after week on a blasted ship.”
“But think of the stories you could tell.”
“Not if you are dead.”
She lifted her brow. “Good heavens, you are quite the cynic.”
“I contend it is better to be a cynic than someone who strives for things they cannot have.”
A small frame containing a portrait of an older gentleman caught her attention and she picked it up. “Is this your father?”
“It is,” Roswell replied, visibly stiffening. “A larger portrait hangs in my mother’s bedchamber.”
“My father commissioned a portrait of himself before he died,” Ellie revealed. “He struggled to get out of bed each day to sit for it.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“For my mother,” Ellie replied softly. “He wanted to give her something she could always remember him by.”
“That was most thoughtful of him.”
“It was,” she said, returning the frame to its place. “Sadly, the portrait remains in the manor, so we rarely have the opportunity to see it.”
“That is most unfortunate.”
“It is.” Ellie turned her head so that he would not see the unwanted tears that were starting to burn her eyes.
Lord Bideford stepped closer to her and extended a white handkerchief without saying a word.
After she wiped her eyes, she took a moment to compose herself before turning back towards him. “I do apologize for my display of emotions.”
To her surprise, his eyes held something akin to compassion in them. “You have no need to apologize,” he said. “I know the grief associated with losing a father.”
“I do appreciate that, my lord.”
Ellie held up the handkerchief. “I shall return this after my lady’s maid washes it.”
“You may keep it,” he said, putting his hand up. “My mother loves to make me handkerchiefs with my initials on them, and I have a whole drawer full of them.”
Lowering the handkerchief to her side, she replied, “You are most kind for saying so.”
A silence descended over them, and before it grew awkward, Lord Bideford spoke up. “I have been meaning to talk to you about something.”
