An Unconventional Courtship (If the lady first refuses...)

by Morgan King

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Morgan King

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-448-1

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I’d like to dedicate this one to Raven and Musician, both of whom read this story when it was only a few hundred words and insisted it deserved to be longer.

  AN UNCONVENTIONAL COURTSHIP

  If the lady first refuses...

  Morgan King

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  “Milady, it’s six A.M.”

  “Yes, Fanny, I know.”

  Ellie could also guess what Fanny was most likely thinking: that they were not normally up so early and that it was rather unfair of Ellie, as it also required Fanny to be not just awake but dressed and able to concentrate on her duties. Fanny, of course, would rather still be in bed.

  “Milady?”

  “Yes, Fanny?”

  Was her maid actually biting her tongue?

  “Nothing, milady.”

  “Concentrate on what you are doing then and please pull tighter,” Ellie said, changing the subject they hadn’t actually got as far as discussing.

  She gasped for breath as the maid tugged sharply on the lace she was weaving to and fro up the middle of Eleanor’s back. Having issued the instruction she could hardly complain. She just hoped her assets would benefit from the extra reminder to present themselves.

  “You didn’t get back from the Henderson Ball till gone two.” Fanny, it seemed, couldn’t resist raising another objection, her tone becoming increasingly petulant. “Your mother won’t be stirring for hours.”

  Fanny failed to realise that instead of illustrating her point it merely began to irritate Ellie, who was also tired despite her enthusiasm for the day. Last night’s ball had been a long, tedious affair. She’d danced dance after dance, her eyes turning bleary and frequently pausing mid blink to rest before opening again. Not one dance partner had truly interested her.

  Lord Mendton had, once again, not been in attendance.

  Fortunately for Fanny, Ellie was ever patient. “Yes. I know, Fanny, and I am sorry for your lack of sleep, but I have things to do, and that means you need to be up to help and accompany me.”

  “Can’t these things be done later in the day, milady?” Fanny asked. “None of the shops will be open.”

  “No, but the birds are up, and apparently that is what matters.” It mattered enough that Ellie had invested in all nine volumes of the Comte de Buffon’s Histoire naturelle générale et particulière that related to birds.

  “Milady?”

  “Never mind, Fanny.” Ellie let the girl assist her with sliding today’s pale blue muslin dress over her head, and settling it on top of the chemise she already wore.

  She didn’t want to have to explain her actions to anyone, least of all her own maid. Fanny, when left in ignorance, rarely found enlightenment and was a rare guest to gossiping with other servants.

  If anyone did ask her why she was up and about so early, she intended to say that she wished to return to the Henderson’s as she had left her favourite shawl there. She could not sleep for worrying about it, and it would not do to send a servant as they might not recognise it. Saying she was going to look for birds, which was in itself only a partial truth, would just invite more questions, as Fanny had proved.

  It was rare for a woman to have such an interest in nature. Even Mr. Drysdale the book clerk had thought the books were for her father. Her being a woman had certainly helped her purchase the books, though. The volumes she had acquired had been reserved for a gentlemen who had ordered them, until Ellie persuaded Mr. Drysdale to give them to her instead, flattering him for a good half an hour as only a woman could ‘til he relented, still muttering something about how annoyed the other customer would be.

  “My navy blue spencer please, Fanny. I’ll brush my own hair.”

  “Are you sure, milady?”

  She was not, as it happened, quite sure about constantly being addressed as “milady”. The way Fanny always drew out the title was both ingratiating and a constant reminder of the difference in their stations, which made Ellie feel she couldn’t entirely relax around her maid, but about her hair, yes. “I think I can manage to wind it into a bun, but if you wish to tie in a ribbon to match the sash on my dress, you may.”

  Ellie was keen to look her best, but she didn’t want to take hours getting ready. Coiffing her curls into obedience could take that long if she went for a fancy style.

  “Yes, milady,” Fanny said in a more accommodating manner. She must have grown accustomed to the idea of going out so early.

  “Then you may go and get you own jacket and boots on and meet me by the front door.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  ****

  Ellie and her maid walked St James’s Park, Ellie looking carefully for any sign of movement.

  “What are you looking for, milady?”

  “Nothing.” It was strictly true. It was someone they were looking for.

  “Are you sure we should be here, milady?” Fanny asked, “There are no other respectable people about at this time of day, milady.”

  There should be. According to her information, the Viscount Mendton should be here. A couple of weeks ago his sister, Frances, had let slip that every morning he went out walking in St. James’ Park—ridiculously early. Surely, this was ridiculously early enough.

  Twenty-five long minutes later, each one marked by a question or observation from Fanny, Ellie spotted him over by the ornamental waters. He was standing very still, looking up to the trees on the far side of the water. He held some strange form of spy glass up to his eyes. It looked like there were two spy glasses joined together, in fact. Intriguing.

  Ellie corrected Fanny’s trajectory, so their path would cross with that of the Viscount. He seemed absorbed in his studies, showing no sign of sensing their presence until they were directly behind him, at which point he spun round, a look of exasperation darkening his features.

  “Good Morning, my Lord.” Ellie spoke as respectfully as she could manage, wanting to be proper in his presence without acting as if he were her superior. He gave the impression he was the superior of everyone quite enough, better not to encourage the tendency.

  He nodded at her. Not quite the cut direct, but no sign of remembering her name or that they had even met.

  “I recall we met a few weeks ago. Your sister introduced us.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t attend balls.”

  Really, the nerve of the man to question her, just because he didn’t attend balls! A fact Ellie already knew. His sister had described how her brother didn’t like the “stuffy atmosphere” and unrequired attentions of “simpering young ladies” to be found there. Lady Frances had affected a deep and jaded voice when giving these examples, causing both ladies to laugh.

  “It was at the Buckley’s Garden Party.” Ellie remembered it clearly.

  Just that one sighting had been enough to fix her interest. His presence was formidable.


  It wasn’t just his height or his broad shoulders. He stood tall, his posture well held. The fluid stride of his walk and stillness when paused made him seem comfortable with his body, as if he used it regularly, and mind and body communicated without needing to be reminded. Given that he didn’t dance in the evenings, he must be keeping fit during the day.

  “Ah, yes...” he said hesitantly.

  She’d known at the time she hadn’t made an impression, but to not even merit a look of recognition....

  Maybe the moment could still be rescued. “Isn’t the weather lovely today? It’s so nice to be out in the sunshine when it’s still quiet enough to hear the sounds of nature.” Ellie’s mother would be proud of her for engaging in small talk about the weather, not something with which she would normally bother.

  “Unfortunately I think we’ve disturbed the surrounding nature.”

  “Were you looking at anything in particular?” Ellie tried again.

  “I was. I was looking at a Cuculus. It was my first sighting.”

  “What was it doing? Do you think it might have been looking for another bird’s nest to lay its egg in?” After reading about this in Buffon’s Histoire, it was something she’d genuinely wanted to see for herself.

  Lord Mendton fixed her with his gaze. “I think it was just about to push an egg from that Rubecula’s nest so that it could lay its own egg there. Even if it wasn’t scared away by your presence, I will have missed it. I understand the act happens in seconds.”

  His words were sharp.

  “I’m sorry, that must be very frustrating.”

  “I can’t even look carefully for eggs, to try to spot if it’s left one, as I’ve yet to learn what the two birds’ eggs look like. If the chap at Hatchard’s hadn’t given away my books...”

  “Oh...” Ellie gasped so suddenly Lord Mendton looked at her quizzically. “That is a shame.”

  “Yes. I could kill for those books.”

  So, he could be passionate! Ellie had wondered. What else might he do for the books? Call on her to collect them? “What books are they? My father has a lot of books on birds. Maybe he might have them.”

  “They’re too new. That’s why I had to order them.” With just a few words he dismissed her.

  At this point Ellie could have named the books in question, and said she’d seen them newly arrived. However, the normally self-assured and self-admittedly stubborn Ellie was now subdued.

  He didn’t deserve the books.

  There was also no point striving to attract a man who barely knew she existed, even when she crossed his path and spoke to him before seven in the morning. He was clearly not looking for a wife, and even if he were—given his status, looks, and wealth—he could probably have any lady he chose. Ellie was probably not the only titled lady whose fancy he had taken.

  “Well, I shall leave you to your search then, and pray that your prey can be rediscovered.’” Ellie turned away. “Come, Fanny!” she called to her maid, who appeared to have drifted off to study daisies, before striding purposefully on her way to no particular destination. Not until she and Fanny were out of sight would they head back towards home. She willed herself not to look back.

  Perhaps she would countenance her parents’ suggestion to let the Earl of Wyvern court her despite his youth. At only two-and-twenty he was a few years older than she, true, yet each year older may as well have been a year younger for the maturity it gained him. By others he would be considered a good catch. As well as already having come into his title and looking to settle down and secure his line, he was always fashionably turned out, and—if you liked the blond curls and blue eyes of an Adonis—he was handsome. He reminded Ellie of a puppy.

  Ellie hadn’t asked Lord Mendton’s age, but she guessed him to be a few years past thirty, around fifteen years her senior. His dark hair was smudged with white at the temples. Ellie thought it made him look distinguished. Don’t look back.

  Ellie did not know why her heart found the dark and intense stare of Lord Mendton more attractive. When his eyes did fix on her it was all too sharp, all too brief. She knew she liked the fact that he was older than she, and that he possessed a degree of confidence that was not born of arrogance or youthful exuberance. She had wanted to crack his stern veneer. His very elusiveness made him more interesting than the gentlemen who were eager for attention. He was just out of reach. She had tried to go on tiptoe for a chance to bring herself into his field of vision, to no avail.

  Ellie sighed.

  “Do your feet hurt from all the walking, too, milady?”

  “I didn’t realise I needed a ladder, Fanny.”

  “A ladder, milady? Why would you need a ladder?”

  “Do you think I will ever meet someone who understands me, Fanny?”

  The maid appeared to give this some thought. “What about Lord Wyvern, milady? He seems very keen, and he’s so...”

  “So what, Fanny?”

  “Well his eyes, milady, they sparkle like the sea.”

  It seemed her maid was smitten. Ellie wanted more than keenness. Lord Wyvern, she suspected, she could manipulate as she pleased—and there was little challenge, nor pleasure of victory to be had in that. Although, she supposed, it had to be a factor in his favour that he was interested in her. Unlike Lord Mendton.

  ****

  Alex could kick himself, would have done if it were not for the fact that he doubtless would fail to build significant momentum by bringing one leg back to meet the shin of the other.

  He hadn’t meant to be so rude.

  The lady had just been friendly, and clearly claimed an acquaintance. If his sister had introduced them they must move in similar circles. Unfortunately Alex never remembered any lady’s name, unless she was a relative. It was not that this lady was particularly forgettable—he just tended to forget faces unless he saw them often or memorised a particular characteristic. She was remarkably pretty, in truth. Even though he had been annoyed, he had still noted long, fly-away curls, the colour of whipped butter, and her eyes, a perfect match for the blue that flashed on a jay.

  He watched as she disappeared into the distance, her gait rather hurried. Where had she been going so early in the morning? Most ladies were in bed this time in the morning. She had her maid with her, so the nature of her errand or assignation couldn’t be too risqué. Alex was intrigued. It was a shame he hadn’t engaged properly in conversation with her. He might have been able to find out more about her.

  Why did he always have to find it so difficult to converse with others? Witty comments often stayed in his head. They didn’t like to share themselves with the rest of the world. And it hadn’t helped that his mood today had already been adversely influenced by that dashed book thief.

  If he should encounter the lady again he would talk to her, or at the very least rediscover her name and endeavour to remember it.

  There was just something, something about her.

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks after the disappointment of seeing Lord Mendton in the park and not having seen him since, Ellie gave in to family pressure and spoke encouragingly to Lord Wyvern. At least, she said yes in answer to his question of whether she’d like to row on the lake. The sense of being adrift and not tied to the ground and everyday concerns was what had really appealed. Unfortunately, if she was going to keep with society’s customs and silly ideas about what a lady could and couldn’t properly do, she would need a man to steer the boat while she reclined.

  Had Ellie been at home she would have rowed herself and then let the boat drift while she cloud-gazed, not having to worry about bumping into other boats. As it was, she was at The Regent’s Park, which was thronged with people, all eager to take the opportunity, now that the park was open to the public a couple of days a week, to tour the newly redesigned grounds.

  Ellie could count over two dozen families of her acquaintance within clear sight, including the Mendtons. She would normally have gone over to say hello to Frances, but today s
he had stayed away as Frances's brother was also there. She had no wish to be ignored again and was trying to clear her head of thoughts of the Viscount, which would not be helped by a closer proximity.

  Even now when she should be listening to Lord Wyvern, thoughts of Mendton had distracted her.

  “What do you think, my dear?” The Earl paused mid stroke, poised for a response.

  Ellie hadn’t even heard the initial question. It was the over-familiar endearment that had got her attention. What had they been discussing before her mind had drifted? Lord Wyvern’s interest in classical music? His mother’s health? No, it was no good.

  “Sorry, what was the question? I was distracted.” Ellie chose not to claim any pretence of having been paying attention.

  Lord Wyvern smiled, flashing a pair of dimples, and looked fondly across at her, as if presuming she might have been distracted by thoughts of him. How anyone could be so ignorantly oblivious was a marvel to Ellie.

  “I was just asking whether you had been to the West Country before, or if we travelled together it would be your first time there.”

  Ellie startled. She’d been lounging back in the boat, availing herself of the cushions placed there, and her sudden movements caused the boat to rock.

  “Steady on! We don’t want to fall in.”

  Steady on? It wasn’t Ellie who needed to steady on—it was he!

  Blow decorum! She had to halt his fanciful notions. “I’ve never been west of Bath, nor do I see that I will have reason to in the near future.” If he was thinking of their travelling to his ancestral home together—located some distance past Bath if she remembered correctly—then he had lost any sense of subtlety, and was not only assuming a courtship to be underway, but that it would be successful!

  “You foresee us having a long engagement? I had hoped we could be married before the end of the summer.” His brow became creased. “My mother’s health being what it is, the sooner the better really.”