Lady Be Reckless

by Megan Frampton

  Chrysanthemum settled into a regular pace, and he took a moment to appreciate the passing view—tall, thin houses gradually giving way to broader expanses of green as they approached the park. A pack of workers with shovels and spades headed into the park also, probably to beautify it before the right people appeared to tour its perimeter.

  And when had he gotten so critical? He hadn’t always felt the sting of his birth so keenly, but here, here where Society could—and did—punish him for something that happened before he was born made him even more aware of who he was.

  Thank goodness for his father, who had been able to see past the prejudice and love Edward as his own.

  He urged Chrysanthemum into a gallop, lowering himself over her mane, looking between her ears toward the vast expanse of green.

  He gripped her sides with his thighs, urging her faster, and faster still, feeling all of his pent-up anger and energy dissipate with each passing step.

  “Good girl,” he murmured as she continued her fierce and furious pace.

  Fierce and furious returned his thoughts to her. Of course.

  Lady Olivia was just as determined to run as Chrysanthemum, only in her case it was to run toward injustice. To gallop hard against indifference and intolerance.

  She used her clout to further others who couldn’t do it on their own. No wonder she was so determined to assist him, though he knew he was strong enough to withstand whatever Society might throw his way.

  But his father wasn’t. Or, rather, his father would prefer to see his only son participating in the race, not observing from outside, or worse yet, forbidden to even watch.

  He needed her help. He should admit that, if not to her, at least to himself. She was a duke’s daughter, she could enter worlds and speak to people he could not. Would not, if he had his preference.

  But he didn’t. He owed it to his father, at least, to try. He was doubtful of his ability to succeed, but he had to try.

  “Do you see him?” Olivia asked Pearl. They were at the Lindens’ party that evening, a small affair with no dancing offered, which meant that there were only two hundred people or so in attendance.

  Two hundred people, all of whom appeared to be taller than Olivia, so why she was asking her shorter sister was a good question. But not the one she’d asked.

  “Which one? Lord Carson or the other one, Mr. Whatever-Is-His-Name?” Pearl snapped back. She was not in a good mood. She’d been forced to attend this evening, despite claiming a headache.

  Olivia suspected it was because she actually wanted to stay at home and play with the kittens rather than go to yet another Society function where she’d attempt to sneak into the corner and Olivia would drag her back out.

  It was unfortunate that Pearl was so shy, but Olivia knew it was her duty to ensure her twin was known to as many people as possible so that she could hopefully meet the man she would marry.

  “You never met Mr. Wolcott,” Olivia said, emphasizing his last name. She regretted even thinking of him as “the bastard.” And that she had said it to his face! If she ever admitted she had done something wrong, she would definitely be admitting it now.

  Thankfully, she did not.

  “So you are asking me if I see Lord Carson? Be more specific, Olivia, for goodness’ sake,” Pearl grumbled. “Besides which, no. I have not. As you have frequently noted, you are taller than I am, and neither one of us can see past this wall of lordly height,” she continued, still in the same tone of voice.

  It was true that there were quite a few gentlemen standing in front of them, their broad, dark backs the only thing either she or Pearl could see. But that kind of impediment wouldn’t stop Olivia from finding him. Surely he would want to know the kindness she was going to do for his friend.

  “Ah, there he is!” she announced. “And Mr. Wolcott is there too.” She began to walk forward, then remembered Pearl. “You don’t mind . . . ?” she began, only to stop speaking as Pearl shook her head far more vehemently than the occasion warranted. And then, predictably, she escaped from the ballroom to go out onto the terrace.

  “Fine, then,” she muttered to herself. With her eagerness to avoid crowds and parties, Pearl might have to find her own husband.

  Perhaps the gentleman was wandering through the maze beyond the terrace. And then Pearl would get lost, and he would help her, and Olivia wouldn’t have to worry about her any longer.

  But she couldn’t lose herself in thoughts about her sister, not right now. She had other things to worry about.

  Decided on her priorities, she stepped past one of the dark coats in front of her to where Bennett and his friend were standing.

  As she walked toward them, she couldn’t help but notice how attractive Mr. Wolcott was. And not in the traditionally handsome way Bennett was; Mr. Wolcott looked wild, and fierce. His dark hair, while brushed and in place, had a curly unruliness to it that made him look untamed. He was clean-shaven, but his cheeks were stubbled, making him look more dangerous. His eyes were dark as well, focused on the crowd with a wary intensity that made her very glad he was not looking at her.

  And where Bennett’s form was sleek and lean, Mr. Wolcott was both broad and angular, his shoulders wide, his legs long and lean and encased in his evening trousers.

  Everything about him, not just his birth, seemed as though he had been made without attention to propriety. He was unsettling. And she had never been unsettled by anyone before.

  She would have her work cut out for her, taking this dangerous-looking person and making him appear to be a respectable gentleman.

  As much to herself as to her world.

  Chapter 5

  Never back away from a chance to do something right. No matter how much personal turmoil it might cause you.

  Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum

  “Good evening, Lord Carson.” It was her again, the lady who practically vibrated she was so alive. Edward felt his skin prickle as though she’d touched him.

  “And good evening, Mr. Wolcott,” she added with a bright smile directed squarely at him.

  It was a hefty weapon, her smile. At least to him. He felt flattened by it, aware of what she thought of him but still unable to keep himself from feeling more intrigued and interested by her.

  “Good evening, Lady Olivia,” Bennett replied in his usual charming tone. As though the lady hadn’t offered him a marriage proposal the previous evening, which he’d firmly rejected.

  Edward had to admire his friend’s aplomb.

  “Good evening,” he echoed, bowing.

  “I am glad you are both here,” Lady Olivia said, shifting her gaze from Edward to Bennett and back again. “I have something I wish to say to both of you.” Edward’s unease grew; what knowledge was this unexpected woman about to impart? Judging by the pleased expression on her face, it was something that brought her pleasure. But since the only time he’d heard her speak her mind it was to announce that she and Bennett shared mutual feelings for one another—well, he did not trust her to know what would bring happiness to anyone.

  “What is it?” Bennett sounded as wary as Edward felt. His aplomb had deserted him, no doubt scurrying away to regroup after feeling the force of her personality.

  “Well,” she replied, beaming in satisfaction. “I have thought of something I can do to help your situation.”

  “What situation?” Edward blurted out. She gave him a reproving look.

  “The situation of your acceptance into Society, Mr. Wolcott, since you asked,” she replied. Sounding as though she were delivering a lecture, not speaking in conversation. “I know there are many who would snub you for the circumstances of your birth,” she began, her cheeks coloring as she spoke. Because she had snubbed him herself? Even called him a bastard?

  “And it is my duty to ensure you are fully accepted by everyone whom you might meet.” She gave a firm nod as she finished speaking. As though what she had said would be done merely because she had said it.

  �
��It doesn’t work that way,” Edward said. Bennett shot him a look, which he ignored. He needed to tell this insufferable, vibrantly blazing woman that it wasn’t that easy, despite how simple she made it sound.

  He also had to admit to not wanting to see her hopes crushed so soon after having them crushed by his best friend. If she knew how hard it would be, she would be better prepared for when she failed.

  “You can’t just bestow a few smiles and dances on me, introduce me to your friends and family, and expect that everyone will be absolutely fine with the circumstances of my birth. It doesn’t work that way,” he repeated, realizing that now he was vibrating, but with anger.

  Not necessarily at her, but because of the entire situation. How was it possible that a piece of paper could stand in the way of his being accepted? Of making friends? Of finding a bride?

  Of pleasing his father?

  Lady Olivia lifted her chin, a fiery, determined look in her eye. The one he was coming to both dread and admire. “But, Mr. Wolcott, here is the thing. I am the Duke of Marymount’s daughter. I have successfully helped a wide variety of people and causes—”

  “Such as?” Edward interrupted.

  Her color heightened, and she glared at him as much as a young lady at a polite Society party could. “I am on the committee for the Society for Poor and Orphaned Children, I am a strong supporter of mothers’ rights, and I do not back down from something I see as wrong.”

  He’d want to laugh if she weren’t absolutely serious. “You are saying that because you have shown up at some meetings and possibly spoken out—shocking some people, I’m sure—that you can force my acceptance into the most entrenched company?”

  Her mouth opened as Bennett stepped between them, putting his hand on Edward’s arm. Edward hadn’t realized he was only a few inches away from her, close enough to see the golden lights in her hazel eyes, close enough to kiss.

  Not that he wanted to do that. Not at all. He was furious with her—wasn’t he?

  “I might have a solution,” Bennett said in his calm, arguing-a-bill-in-the-House-of-Commons voice.

  Edward turned to regard Bennett with one brow raised. “What do you suggest?” he asked. Was this Bennett’s distraction plan? The one that would keep the lady from proposing again and Edward from losing his temper? Even though he’d found himself nearly as amused as he was frustrated, which was different from usual. Normally he just growled inside his head, but at least now he wanted to laugh also.

  She was still looking at him, her cheeks flushed red, her lush mouth set into a firm line. As though she had much more to say but was being polite.

  “Well,” Bennett began, gesturing between them. “Edward, you have a situation, one that requires you to be accepted by Society.”

  He was not going to—

  “Which is that your father has made it clear he wishes you to marry someone deserving of you. Someone of gentle breeding and good stock.”

  He was. Now who was the bastard?

  “You’re not saying she—and I,” Edward sputtered, gesturing between them.

  She looked more startled than he felt, which was saying something.

  “No,” Bennett said hurriedly. “Not that. Just that if it were to be seen that Lady Olivia found favor with you, perhaps it would be easier for you to find a lady who would suit. And,” he continued, turning to Lady Olivia, “I believe there is no better person who could assist my good friend in finding a wife.”

  Lady Olivia’s expression changed from horror to relief. Edward wished that didn’t bother him quite so much.

  “Oh, what a splendid idea!” she said, smiling. Her whole face was lit, her eyes wide and excited. Her lips shaped into a perfect O of delight, making Edward lose his focus for a moment.

  What would it be like to kiss that mouth? Those rosy lips that seemed to be so bitable?

  Although he knew full well that was not at all in the lady’s thoughts, given her reaction to even the possibility of marrying him.

  She took his arm, nodding to Bennett at the same time. “If you do not mind, Lord Carson, I will whisk your friend away so we can discuss this further in private. Thank you so much for bringing us together.”

  Edward couldn’t help but notice Bennett’s look of smug satisfaction as Olivia steered him toward two chairs at the edge of the ballroom.

  Olivia tried to calm her breathing, but for once she was not in control. Not of her breath, her future, or of how she felt when she was in Mr. Wolcott’s presence.

  As he had been the first evening she had seen him, he was dressed impeccably, all of his clothing obviously tailored precisely to his admittedly attractive body.

  She was surprised he didn’t tip over because his shoulders were so wide and his waist and hips were so lean. If she had paid more attention to her governess when she was discussing maths and gravity and other things that made no sense to Olivia, perhaps she could have understood it better.

  As it was, she just had admiration for the entire presentation of him.

  And now he was one of her official projects, perhaps the most important project of her life: if she were to get him accepted into Society and find him a bride, Bennett would finally see she was the wife he was meant to have.

  So it was terribly vital that she not get distracted by pondering the strength of Mr. Wolcott’s arms. Or how his dark curls made him look like a rakish devil. Or how his legs were so long his tailor must have charged him more for his trousers.

  But from what she knew, Mr. Wolcott could well afford it, given who his father was.

  Olivia nodded to Mr. Wolcott to sit as she was sitting down on one of the chairs. “Please get comfortable, Mr. Wolcott. I will have several questions for you.”

  She regretted that her small evening purse couldn’t accommodate a notebook and pencil so she could jot down what he said. She’d just have to try to remember.

  “I appreciate your interest, my lady,” he said, grimacing as he spoke. As though he did not appreciate her interest. “But there is no need for you to concern yourself with—with any of this,” he said, gesticulating toward where the party-goers danced and chatted on, unaware that there was a great miscarriage of justice in their midst.

  “But I am concerned, sir,” Olivia replied, edging her chair toward his in her enthusiasm. “I cannot stand by while there is someone who is in need of my help.” She tried to forget that she herself had been guilty of miscarrying justice when it came to this particular man—after all, she’d been upset by what Bennett had said. How they would all laugh together when it was settled and she and Bennett were married, and Mr. Wolcott had found a bride of his own.

  She smiled to herself at the thought.

  “You often come to people’s rescue, then?” Mr. Wolcott said in a milder tone. It seemed as if he were actually curious, which warmed her heart. And made her realize how few of the people she spoke to seemed to show interest in anything she championed. Except for Pearl, but it was part of being a twin to show interest in things.

  “I do.” She took a deep breath, wishing she weren’t in a constricting evening gown. What if she were called upon to right a wrong? A wrong that required freedom of movement?

  She would have to decline because she was elegantly garbed. Not really the type of excuse she would stand for from anyone else, let alone herself.

  “I will not allow anyone to suffer because I did not do something, you see, Mr. Wolcott,” she explained. “I am fortunate enough to have been born to wealth and privilege. It is my duty to use that position to help those who are less fortunate than I.”

  “And if they do not want your help?”

  The words cut uncomfortably close to what Pearl had said: These are men you are dealing with, not unfed orphans or gentlewomen who just need a bit of embroidery to brighten their day.

  “I . . .” she began, only to realize she had no idea what to do if someone didn’t want her help. She did not think it had happened in the time since she had become aware of i
njustice, and things that needed doing. By her.

  Speaking of which, she had seven shifts to make before the end of the month. And now she had to find Mr. Wolcott a bride. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Mr. Wolcott was attractive, no matter his birth.

  Plus Pearl was quite good at sewing, so she would likely be able to assist.

  “The situation has not come up,” she said firmly. Ignoring the image of Pearl’s raised brow in her mind.

  “Of course not.” Was he laughing at her? How dare he? He was just a—well, no, she couldn’t think of him that way, not if he was to be her project. Her mission.

  “But tell me,” she began, hoping she hadn’t revealed her thoughts on her face, “what are your most important attributes for a bride?”

  She settled back in her chair, clasping her hands in her lap, her eyes focused on him. On that unruly hair that curled down over one eye, giving him an almost piratical look. On how, although he was seated, he looked like he was still moving, even though he was still. As though he was an arrow waiting to be shot straight into someone’s heart.

  Not hers, of course. And speaking of hearts, he hadn’t answered, even though she had given him plenty of opportunity.

  “Well?” she demanded, tilting her head to look at him pointedly. “You were going to say?”

  Damn, but she was likely the most managing female he’d ever met. Not that he’d met that many; the women in his father’s household were servants, and he rarely interacted with them. The women he chose for more pleasurable pursuits seldom argued with what he wanted to do to them, since they seemed to enjoy it so much.

  But still. He wondered if she would be just as authoritative in more intimate circumstances. He grinned to himself as he imagined it—caress my breast more slowly, Mr. Wolcott—then swiftly smoothed his expression so she wouldn’t demand to know what he was thinking of.

  What had she asked, anyway?

  Oh, of course. The kind of woman he wanted for a bride.