by Sue London
"I told him not to bother since you are usually quite punctual and I wanted to catch you on your way out. I then found myself staring at your family portraits until I began to fancy I knew them all quite intimately. But the point of this being that you aren't acting like yourself and it won't be long before others notice that as well."
Gideon frowned. "Men in love are known to act quite strangely. Who's to say this isn't due to love?"
"Simple, my dear boy. The look on your face. Were that the look of love there would be more duels twixt the bride and groom at weddings."
Gideon continued frowning while giving a final inspection to his coat. "There aren't more duels at wedding Quince because by the time you arrive at the chapel you have quite given up on life."
"Oh yes,” the duke said drily, “I see that you are already practicing your 'young man in love' mien."
"Being neither young nor in love I don't see the point in bothering. Are you coming to the Wittiers?"
"Indeed I see I must, if only to prod you to the proper behavior to save you and your fiancée from embarrassment."
Chapter Four
Jack looked out across the ballroom, absently fanning herself. She knew that the earl was supposed to be here tonight but hadn't seen him yet. Both Mama and Papa were ensconced in the card room and her sister Sam was dancing a reel with a dashing young Captain. When the family had arrived there had been a stream of well-wishers on her engagement and a few gentlemen had politely asked her to dance. She had saved the first waltz for Harrington, since that seemed appropriate, but its time had come and gone and there were no new dance invitations. That meant Jack was lingering along the wall, wishing she could just plead a headache and go home. Watching her sister, she realized she wished she could be more like Sam. Silly, good-natured Sam who looked to be having the time of her life, spinning on the arm of her partner. Sam, who found joy in all that life had to offer. Jack was smiling indulgently at her sweet little sister when motion at the entrance caught her attention. At last the earl had come, resplendent in black and white. His too-long hair was tamed back into a queue and his clothing was fitted to perfection. He was holding her gaze from across the room. She suddenly realized she was staring and went back to watching her sister dance, picking up the tempo of her fanning. Shortly before Sam's dance ended Jack felt, rather than saw, the earl approach her.
"You're looking lovely this evening, my dear," he murmured, as though it was a compliment he didn't want anyone else to hear. He bowed over her free hand, and then kept it in his grasp as he looked around them. "Where are your admirers?"
Jack stopped fanning her face to look at him blankly. "My admirers?"
"Yes," he said, still looking around the room and sounding peevish, "all those men who have been singing your praises to me for the last three days."
"I'm sure you're quite mistaken," Jack said tartly. "It was very clear that I never quite 'took' in the ton."
The earl brought his gaze back to hers, his brow furrowing into a frown. "Oh, I'm quite sure I'm not mistaken. If one were to listen to Hastings over there it is apparent that you're some rarified combination of the Virgin Mary and the Queen."
Now Jack's brow furrowed and she looked around. "Hastings? Who the devil is Hastings?"
That caused the earl to smirk. "Poor chap. Smitten with you and you don't even know who he is."
"Don't be ridiculous, no one is smitten with me. It is ungracious of you to tease me with such an idea."
The earl's expression went from amused to irritated. "If you don't-"
"Hullo, Giddy," the duke's voice cut in. "Miss Walters," he said, stealing her hand from the earl and bowing over it. "How sublime you look this evening. This shade of green brings out your eyes."
"Thank you, your grace. You are all that is charming and fashionable."
The earl, his hands now clasped behind him, rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Yes, you're both bloody amazing. I was having a conversation with my fiancée, Quince, which any idiot could see."
His Grace kept a jovial expression in place but said, "No, any idiot could see that you were having an argument. If you aren't going to go about this properly you might as well give up now."
The earl's expression darkened into a scowl. Based on how freely he had spoken to the duke, Jack had to assume the two were fast friends. It didn't seem right to have such a friendship strained by this awkward engagement, and it was quite magnanimous of the duke to bolster their relationship with his attention. Jack knew that she was ill prepared to smooth the waters in such a case, since it was unlikely that a recitation of Greek or Latin would have a positive effect. Both of her friends would be better at navigating this. Heavens, even her sister would be. In fact, what would Sam do? Playful Sam. Whom everyone adored.
She tapped the duke's arm with her fan. "Oh la, your grace, it wasn't an argument. Harrington was telling me how jealous he was of my admirers." She gazed up at the earl from under her lashes. "I'm sure he was about to ask me to dance."
Harrington looked down at her as though she had taken leave of her senses, which honestly was exactly how she felt. But she was willing to brave her way through this to settle a discord between friends. She attempted to look winsome but assumed that with all the lash batting she was doing she just looked like she had something in her eye. At last Harrington held out his arm to lead her out to the dance floor. Ironically they were just in time for the second waltz of the night and something of the humor of the situation must have registered on her face.
"What is amusing to you now?" the earl prompted as they settled into the rhythm of the dance. He held her at an appropriate distance but she could feel the heat of his body from her head to her toes. Everywhere he touched her burned like sitting too close to a fire on a chilly night.
Jack looked up at him. Really looked, as she hadn't before, and considered him as a man. His face bordered on craggy, all sharp cheekbone and aristocratic nose, and his dark blue eyes were expressive. At the moment they expressed curiosity tinged with a bit of bewilderment as she continued to smile up at him without speaking. As tall as she was, he was one of the few dance partners she'd had where she truly had to look up which was novel in and of itself.
"Why does the duke call you Giddy?"
His expression cooled as though he were disappointed that was what she was thinking about. "It's his attempt at humor."
"Sarcasm then?"
"I suppose," he said with a small shrug, losing interest in this line of conversation.
"In truth that wasn’t what tickled me."
"Oh, and what was that?"
Jack lowered her gaze to Harrington's cravat. "I saved the first waltz for you but you hadn't arrived yet when it was played. I found it amusing that here we are dancing the waltz anyway."
"It seems I shall always be in trouble with you for being late."
Jack looked back up at him. Those deep blue eyes spoke not only of defensiveness but some apprehension. "Of course not," she answered blandly, in order to minimize the issue. "Where were you, anyway?" Jack nearly winced when the question came out of her mouth. It was never good to ask a question when you weren't prepared to hear the answer. Further, he might be insulted by her intrusiveness about his activities. Honestly, she thought, it would probably be better if she weren't sent out in public at all.
"Quince was lecturing me about how important it is that we make a good showing of our tendre for each other."
Jack stumbled a step, causing Harrington to pull her closer to steady her. "Our what?" she gasped.
"Our tendre. The sudden romantic interest that caused a confirmed bachelor and bookish maiden to announce an engagement before anyone even realized they knew each other."
"Surely no one is going to believe that."
"We need to make sure they believe that." He leaned closer, until he was whispering in her ear. "Especially if you have any hope for the rather outside chance of breaking this engagement. You can be assured that I will not let you go
if your name is sullied by knowledge of how our attachment actually occurred."
Jack shivered with the memory of the last time he had whispered in her ear. As much as she was against this engagement, her body still yearned to feel him pressed against her, touching her as he had in the library. She might, she thought, have a lifelong affection for Thucydides simple due to the scene his name aroused in her memory.
Gideon felt the shiver go through Miss Walters and drew back to look at her face again. Her eyes were closed, her chin tilted back as though expecting his kiss. For a moment he had a crazed notion to do just that, kiss her here on the Wittier's dance floor in what would undoubtedly be the on dit of the season. But that would hardly be beneficial for her reputation. Upon reflection it might even push her father to do something reckless after all. The fact that they were now dancing scandalously close and the imperious Miss Walters had melted into a pose of feminine submission was probably enough for the biddies to start gossiping behind their fans. And bloody hell, when had the music stopped? Gideon swept Miss Walters off the dance floor under the speculative and smirking gazes of half the ton.
"I should return you to your parents," Gideon said, feeling rushed and out of sorts. "Where are they?"
"What? Oh. They are in the card rooms I think. You need not worry about returning me to a chaperone."
"Have you not seen the look in the eyes of those around us? I very much need to worry about it. Neither of us acted with much decorum on the dance floor once we were... distracted by our conversation."
Miss Walters looked around and blushed. "Oh. I see."
"I wonder if you do."
Jack indicated the south wall of the room. "That is my sister is over by that palm tree, you can leave me with her."
"The young blonde surrounded by swains?"
The petite blonde practically beamed at them as they approached. Miss Walters made introductions between Gideon and her sister's bevy of hopeful admirers, the younger men acting with some satisfying deference towards him. Having regained his composure he fetched the elder Miss Walters a lemonade, danced with her one more time as was appropriate, asked to take her up in his curricle on the morrow, which she accepted, and then took his leave for the evening. His invitation had been spoken well within the hearing of at least two society matrons who would most likely spread the story of the ongoing romance. He told himself, as he boarded his carriage at the unfashionably early hour of eleven o'clock, that he wasn't fleeing Miss Walters' company, he just had things he needed to do. Although at the moment he couldn't remember what those might be.
Chapter Five
Jack woke up early and lay in her bed watching the room slowly lighten. She felt unaccountably content, as though things were going well when she knew that the exact opposite was true. Although perhaps this was the right thing to do, to enjoy this short-lived engagement. To enjoy the attentions of an attractive man, even if he was acting under pretense for the sake of honor. These days could become treasured memories after she became the spinster she planned to be. After all, this would be the first time she went on a ride with a man younger than her father. All of her suitors had been older gentlemen who needed a young second wife to give them heirs. This year she hadn't drawn any suitors at all. Now she was being courted by an earl. What stories she would have for her nieces and nephews some day. 'Why yes, I was engaged to the Earl of Harrington at one time. We would dash through the streets in his racing curricle, cutting quite the picture I assure you. Who did he marry?' A good question. Who, indeed, would Gideon Wolfe, Earl of Harrington marry? He was by all accounts very active in the House of Lords. He counted a duke amongst his friends. A duke who liked him well enough to tease him with the nickname Giddy. Jack snorted a laugh. Giddy was, in fact, a horrible nickname for the overbearing and downright dour earl. Which was what made it perfect. Who would be the perfect wife for Giddy? A sweet, charming butterfly like her sister Samantha? Most likely not. She would make an excellent hostess, but his mercurial moods and bad temper would be a strain on poor Sam and she would wilt like a hot house flower. A bossy termagant like her friend Sabrina? Sabre wouldn't give a hang about Giddy's disposition, but the two of them would fight like cats and dogs. And the first time he tried to be autocratic with her he might find himself skewered by her namesake sword. Perhaps the wily, artistic George? She would certainly avoid the pitfalls of conflict with Giddy but his volatility would probably make George withdraw altogether.
Honestly it was no wonder he wasn't married yet. He needed a woman strong enough to withstand his temper, and to stand up to him when necessary. She needed to be a good hostess in order to help further his political ambitions and, well, really a countess should always be an incomparable hostess anyway. She needed to bear and raise a future earl. And it would be best if she were a person of character, with interest in doing good works. Thinking through the young women on the marriage mart Jack couldn't think of one who even came close to meeting the criteria she had listed off the top of her head this morning, and surely there would be more requirements of a countess.
For instance, how many estates and holdings did he have? Were any of them in need of refurbishing or having staff replaced? Did he have family that he was most likely ignoring? Those were the sorts of things a wife looked to when an earl didn't have time. She was almost inspired to get up and begin making a list. Perhaps she would do that, create a list of criteria for his countess and begin looking on his behalf. Just because she didn't want to marry him didn't mean someone else wouldn't. It was only appropriate to think of his welfare since she was the one who wanted the engagement ended. Giddy most likely wasn't thinking about these things at all. She perceived he was a bit thick headed in that way. Even in their short acquaintance she could see that. Smart, certainly, but stubborn about things he had already decided. It was evident that if honor hadn't dictated that he offer for her that he wouldn't be thinking about marriage at all right now. According to Debrett’s Peerage he was coming on thirty years old and had ascended to his seat years ago. She also had it on good authority that he was an active politician. How could he not see that a wife was an essential ingredient to the life he was leading? This morning she would start to make a list. Certainly she could find a viable candidate before the season ended.
Gideon pulled his horse to a stop at the Walters' front door and waited for his tiger to grab hold of the leads before he sprang down to the ground. The invitation to take Miss Walters riding in his curricle had come out of his mouth before he'd had time to think about it, but it seemed appropriate. That was his favorite word these days, appropriate. It was appropriate to ask her to marry him after pawing her in the library. It was appropriate to court her like a gentleman since they were most likely to be married, regardless of his fiancée’s beliefs to the contrary. Appropriate, appropriate, appropriate. He'd never realized before exactly how loathsome the word really was.
He rapped smartly at the door, idly wondering what parlor they would stow him in as the estimable Miss Walters finished her preparations. Would they ply him with cakes? Would Mrs. Walters and the younger Miss Walters entertain him by asking the sly and leading questions all families used when assessing the man their daughter was going to marry? His ruminations were pulled up short by having the elder Miss Walters open the door. "I've got it, Villiers," she called out over her shoulder. She was still tucking stray hairs into her bonnet and veritably bounced out on the portico, pulling the door closed behind her.
"Good morning, Giddy," she said. "Fine day for a drive, don't you think?" She had turned her attention to the buttons on her gloves, leaving Gideon staring down at the top of her straw bonnet covered head. Where was the vitriol? Where were the bitter recriminations, the catty and sarcastic comments? And why was she still calling him by that detestible nickname? Satisfied with the fit of her gloves she finally looked up at him again, her green eyes sparkling. "Well, are you coming or do I need to drive myself?"
Gideon offered his arm and they walked
down the steps together. "Were you caught off guard by my being timely today?"
"Precisely. You're lucky I wasn't still abed drinking chocolate and reading the papers, not expecting you for hours yet."
"Still here you are, turned out to a tune and literally waiting by the door. You had some faith in my reformation."
"Even dogs can learn, I should hope that earls can."
"You have been singularly unimpressed with my title, but this is certainly a first to be compared to a dog."
He lifted her into the curricle and she was looking down at him with her hands still resting on his shoulders as she replied. "And potentially finding you lacking in the comparison had you been late today."
"You vicious minx."
She laughed, a throaty burst of joy that lit her expression and made her eyes twinkle before she settled onto the high bench. She was a strange yet refreshing creature. At turns serious, ferocious, and now light-hearted.
Settling in to take the reins Gideon said, "I thought to take us through Mayfair and around to Gunters for ices."
Miss Walters wrinkled her nose. "How pedestrian a trip for a high flier. I should think we would want to take the road through the park."
Gideon laughed. "Are you hoping to find a young buck who will race us?"
"I've won a race or two in my life, I'll have you know."
"Curricle racing?"
"Yes, though not in town."
"Who on earth gave you permission to race curricles?"
She gave him a droll glance. "That isn't the sort of thing one asks permission for, especially if one is a girl."
"Where did you even get a curricle or horse to race?"
"Sabre's brothers Robert and Charles. Though Robert doesn't let me race anymore."
"I should hope not!"
"Since I beat him at a quarter mile," she added with a self-satisfied smile.
Gideon stared at her for a moment. "I'd best hope we don't need to make a marriage of this, shouldn't I?"
