Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1)

by Lisbette Tomas

  Still, it had been the nagging familiarity of her name that had prompted him to ask her aunt for an introduction when he’d encountered her by chance shortly after his previous dance had ended. He wanted the uncertainty gone. It reminded him too much of past evenings standing in a crowded ballroom, ignoring the whispers and stares.

  The young woman hidden in one of small alcoves created by potted plants hadn’t sparked any memories either but since she was on the list, Martin had asked her for a dance. She’d had room on her card, of course; James’s comment when he’d handed Martin the list had made it clear that all the girls on there were would have wide open dance cards — the only ones who would, given the time he’d arrived at the ball.

  I would have thought a wallflower would be a little more …retiring. He rather doubted “retiring” was a word ever used to describe Teresa, not with the way her eyes glared daggers in his direction as they moved in time with the music.

  Her judgment pricked at his temper, even as he had to admire her backbone in standing up to him where most young women simply deferred to his title. He hadn’t asked for the role Society had decided to cast him in. It just wasn’t worth his time to try and change their opinion — not that he had any to spare.

  “I’m hardly responsible for whatever nonsense Society decides to believe.” He turned them to the side, narrowly averting an incident with Mr. Frampton who had, to his practiced eye, had a little too much champagne to successfully dance the waltz. “I think it’s rather unfair to judge me as responsible for what they do or think.”

  Teresa’s lips compressed and she looked away. After a moment, he felt her sigh as some of the stiffness in her posture eased. Meeting his gaze again, she swallowed. “You’re right. That was unfair of me. I apologize.”

  Her clear contrition smoothed the edges of his irritation and he realized he might have been a little harsh. “The ton decided years ago, for whatever reason, that my desire to be anywhere other than their social events made my taste a mark of distinction, particularly when it came to social events,” he offered by way of explanation.

  Her lips quirked, and Martin realized he was staring. “If only I could convince my aunt that would be an effective technique to bring me into fashion.”

  He bit back a laugh, surprised by her wry tone. “Perhaps I could put a word in for you. Your aunt seemed more than happy to introduce me to you. She might consider my advice.”

  Teresa’s smile grew tight. “Charlotte was happy to provide an introduction because she considers my status as a wallflower a personal insult.”

  Even without much experience dealing with eligible young ladies, Martin could tell this was dangerous ground. Time for a strategic retreat to a safer topic.

  If only I had any idea what that might be. During the previous two dances, the conversations had drifted to a quiet death. His hope of finding a candidate for his wife tonight seemed less and less likely.

  “I hope I can still say that it was a surprise to see you here tonight, my lord.” Teresa looked up at him again, offering something of a verbal olive branch. “I thought you had already been to four events this Season, and there’s still the Somercotes’ party, which is the only one you don’t miss.”

  Martin blinked. “I didn’t think I was that predictable.” Or that obvious about it.

  “Oh, I don’t think most of the ton has noticed.” The words rushed out, as if she was worried he had taken offense at what she said. “I just …how do I put it. There’s not much to do as a wallflower. You notice things. Patterns. How people interact. After enough time, it becomes easy to read people. You don’t like it in town, for example.”

  Her candor was surprisingly refreshing after an evening of dealing with the gossip and insinuation that made up most of the social interactions he’d had with the ton — and not at all what he expected to hear from a debutante. It deserved an honest response. “While my estate does keep me busy for much of the year, I’ll admit you’re right. I’m not terribly fond of town.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Her voice was quiet and a little wistful. “It’s so crowded and yet so hard to find interesting people to talk to.”

  “It’s not like there’s an abundance of company out in the country either,” he felt compelled to point out.

  “No, but you’re at least out there able to do things. All the parties here just seem so…” She trailed off for a moment, clearly in search of a word. “Pointless, I suppose. I used to think there was something I was missing that made all of these tedious affairs worthwhile. It took me a year to figure out I was the only one who felt that way.”

  Martin was startled to hear a young woman voice views he had held for years, normally spoken only when he was able to spare an evening for whiskey and cards with friends. “The consensus I hear among young gentlemen is that the point of these parties is to trap them in marriage.” At least, that was the polite way of phrasing what he’d heard repeatedly since his time at Oxford.

  “Maybe from their point of view.” Teresa sighed. “That might be true for mothers with daughters to marry off but that doesn’t explain the rest of them. Near as I can tell, they’re simply busy trying to gain some small victory over their neighbors or find a novel way to entertain themselves, preferably with as little work as possible.”

  “That seems rather …cynical.”

  She shrugged just enough that he felt it. “I don’t have many illusions left when it comes to the ton.”

  “Are all the wallflowers as cynical as you?” He hadn’t gotten that impression from either Elizabeth or Phoebe but neither of them had said much of anything, really. Certainly nothing of substance.

  Teresa laughed, although there wasn’t much humor in it. “No, my lord. I’m considered a hopeless case.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I can see that.” Society had no desire to hear the truth about their existence, especially not from a young chit fresh out of the schoolroom. Or perhaps not so fresh from the schoolroom.

  “Anyone in the ton can tell you I’m completely unsuited to be a wife.” Her eyes met his, a spark of something in them that he couldn’t quite read. “You could help me prove them wrong.”

  Martin blinked, sure she couldn’t have said what he thought he’d heard. “Excuse me?”

  “You must be looking for a wife, my lord. There’s no other explanation for your appearance here tonight, where you’ve danced with three eligible ladies now, including me.” Teresa took a deep breath. “I’m not saying I should be your wife, my lord. In fact, I don’t think we would suit at all. But I know all the young ladies on the market, not to mention the ton. I can tell you who would be amenable to an offer and who might best suit you. I can save you time that you might otherwise spend pursuing someone who’s already all-but-promised to another.”

  Martin narrowed his eyes. “And what benefit does this arrangement offer you, if you aren’t planning on recommending yourself as a candidate?” He wouldn’t deny her observation was accurate but he needed to know the catch before he agreed. There was always a catch.

  “I need a suitor, my lord.” Before he could point out this contradicted what she had just said, she continued. “If I can attract a suitor of your stature, I might be able to convince my aunt and uncle to allow me another Season. Otherwise, my aunt has made it clear that she favors the suit of Lord Radcliff and would encourage my uncle to accept his offer at the end of the Season.”

  Even detached from Society as he was, Martin was familiar with Lord Radcliff. A former acquaintance of Martin’s father, few of the gentlemen in the clubs ever said anything positive about him. The most anyone would offer was that he fulfilled his debts of honor — of which there were many, as rumor said Lord Radcliff never met a card game he didn’t like. Reasons enough to avoid the man in Martin’s book, even without taking into consideration the two buried wives.

  “Pretend to court me for two weeks. Nothing serious, just enough to bring me to the attention of the ton. That should be enou
gh time to convince my aunt and uncle that I have some chance to make a better match, even if it’s not with you. It’s also enough time for us to figure out who would suit you best.” Teresa’s voice was quiet but earnest. “Then you can ‘discover’ her and we can go our separate ways.”

  Audacious as it was, Martin had to admit her proposal had merit. One evening had already drained what little tolerance he had for dealing with the social climbers and gossips in the ton. Every time he felt more eyes looking in his direction, he was reminded of those first years after he’d assumed the title.

  No, minimizing the amount of time he spent finding a bride — and the requisite time in Society that came with it — was the right choice. Teresa’s comments had already shown that she had an astute read of the ton and she was certainly more familiar with the available young women than he was.

  The steady rhythm of the waltz began to slow, signaling the end of the dance. He could suddenly feel the eyes on the back of his neck and hear the whispered speculation that had built as they danced and talked. The chances of continuing their conversation privately were very low indeed.

  “May I call on you tomorrow then? Perhaps a drive in the park so we can discuss the specifics?” When it had become clear he might need to spend the extra time in London, he’d sent back to Moorhall for his pair. A public outing would certainly serve as an opening salvo in this pretend courtship.

  “That sounds wonderful.” Teresa offered him another curtsy as the dance ended. “Thank you for the dance, my lord. It’s been a most interesting evening.”

  Martin bowed. “The pleasure is all mine.” He was startled to find that the words weren’t merely the hollow courtesy Society required but that he had actually enjoyed the dance. In his (admittedly) limited experience, her wit and willingness to speak her mind set her apart.

  Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d met any woman like her since he’d entered Society.

  The crowd around them shifted with the end of the music, some toward the refreshments and others toward the doors opened wide toward the balconies, inviting a respite from the crowded ballroom out in the cool night air. Teresa offered him one last regal nod before turning and slowly making her way back towards the alcove where he had met her, seemingly oblivious to the stares that followed her progress.

  As the stares began to swivel around back to face him, still rooted to the dance floor, Martin could feel the muscles tighten in the back of his neck. There were still several names on the list James had given him, but the prospect of yet another dance like the first two was substantially less appealing than it had been at the start of the evening. Impressive, considering how little he’d been looking forward to it to start with.

  Turning on his heel, he stalked in the direction of the card rooms. They would be crowded but he needed to get out of the ballroom, away from the crowds with nothing better to do than stare and gossip. He’d stayed long enough, danced with a few ladies, and even had the promise of assistance now from someone who knew the field far better than he could hope to.

  “Carlington!” James emerged from the crowd. “Leaving already?”

  “Burrows.” Martin inclined his head to James, unwilling to admit to his friend that his tolerance had worn thin already. “No, just …stepping out for a moment.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” James fell into step next to Martin as he made his way through the hallway. The crowd in the card room was lively enough to be heard even before they reached the doorway. Martin hesitated. Even if they would be distracted by their game, his appearance would still draw at least a few eyes. The absolute last thing he wanted to deal with was more people.

  James stepped past him. “The library is this way and should be much quieter.”

  Martin followed, grateful for James and his uncanny ability to know without words what he needed. As expected, the room was empty and quiet, the rows of books absorbing the faint sounds that might have otherwise filtered in. He took a deep breath, relishing the silence and the lack of eyes on him.

  “I have to say, I was surprised to see you dancing with Teresa Selkirk.” Moving over to one of the couches scattered about the room, James sat back, crossing his legs in front of him. Martin joined him, frowning.

  “Her name was on your list.” Down toward the bottom of it, true, but her name had been on there.

  James shrugged. “I wrote down every young woman not on the shelf who would have free spaces on their dance card. Hers is always open. It didn’t mean I expected you to dance with her.”

  “Her name felt familiar but I couldn’t place it. Still can’t. I thought dancing with her might jar lose some memory.”

  James leaned forward, staring at Martin. “You don’t remember…? What am I thinking, of course you don’t. You don’t spend enough time in society for any of the gossip to register past the superficial level.”

  Martin stiffened, although it wasn’t sure if it was at the implied criticism or at the memory of the gossip that had swirled around him during those first few years. “When the conversation is worth my attention, I remember it.”

  “Oh, come off it Martin, I’m not saying you’re wrong. Most of the gossip is complete and utter nonsense and we both know it.” Mollified, Martin sat back. “I’m merely trying to point out that this is why her name is familiar but you can’t place it. She was the talk of the town after her debut ball — announced to the whole room that if she married, she wanted it to be a love match with someone who would treat her as an equal. You can imagine the ton’s response to that statement from an unknown country girl.”

  Martin felt his jaw tighten. He knew firsthand how brutal the ton could be at a hint of scandal — and being naive enough to believe in a fairy tale like love and bold enough to say so publicly qualified as a scandal in the eyes of Society. And that was without considering the nonsense about equality. For a young woman with few connections and no real fortune to recommend her, it would have been social suicide for at least a Season. Add in her aunt’s reputation and it was no wonder Teresa sat to the side as a wallflower.

  All for nothing too, in his opinion. If love existed — and he had yet to see any evidence that suggested it did — it certainly had no place in a Society marriage. His own history was proof enough of that.

  Silence stretched between them. It was one of the qualities Martin appreciated in James, that he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence but instead allowed the conversation to ebb and flow as it would.

  “From the conversation we had, I think she’s learned from that mistake.”

  James barked out a short laugh. “I should imagine so. She’s a lot brighter than most of the chits out in Society.”

  “You’ve talked with her?” For some reason, his impression of James’s interactions with Society had excluded the eligible young ladies. In retrospect, he supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. He’d asked James for a list and clearly that information had to come from somewhere.

  James raised an admonishing eyebrow at him. “I’ve talked with all of them, although I’ll admit some are more of a trial than others. You could do much worse than Miss Selkirk.”

  “She informed me as we danced she didn’t think we would suit.” He shrugged wryly. “If she’s still looking to marry for love, I have no reason to doubt her on that.”

  “Pity.” James glanced at him. “If you could convince her otherwise, she’s actually the best of the lot. Not as much in the way of fortune or connections, true, but there’s something to be said for a wife with enough sense to hold up her end of a conversation, especially if you’re not desperate for the first two qualifiers.”

  “Perhaps,” Martin grunted. James was certainly offering Teresa high praise. On the other hand, James remained distinctly unmarried, despite pressure from his mother. Martin pushed himself up from the chair. “I fear I’ve reached my limit of Society for the evening.”

  James offered a half-salute without getting up. “I’ll convey your regrets at having to leave early to Her Gr
ace.”

  “You mean you’ll continue to make sure that I receive invitations to these affairs. I appreciate the thought.” He pushed open the door. “I think.”

  Chapter 5

  Teresa stared at the two dresses laid out on the bed and sighed. Both were from her first Season.

  Neither made her feel confident, something she desperately needed.

  Charlotte had been loath to spend money on more than the essentials for her wardrobe this year. What little funds were available had gone towards adapting her evening gowns from the past two years to the current mode. When Teresa asked about her walking dresses, Charlotte replied that Teresa had hardly made good use out of them over the past two Seasons and there was no sense in wasting more money.

  “Which one, miss?” Mary hovered at her elbow, waiting for her decision. Teresa closed her eyes for a moment, reminding herself that it wasn’t Mary’s fault there were no good options.

  Indeed, she was grateful for Mary’s assistance. Technically, since Mary was Charlotte’s lady’s maid, Mary didn’t have to help her at all — and without Mary’s help, there was no way she was going to be ready to meet with Lord Carlington. Assuming he even shows up.

  “The blue, I think.” She liked that one slightly better and if she was going to be conspicuously out of fashion, she would at least be comfortable at the same time.

  Mary nodded approvingly. “That’s a good choice, miss. With the white bonnet?”

  “Yes.” That, at least, didn’t require much thought. The white bonnet represented her connection to her parents; one of the few pieces she had left. It had been one of the projects her mother used to distract her when Teresa had been too excited about her upcoming Season to sit still and the weather hadn’t permitted a walk in the woods. She’d made a few small changes to update it at the beginning of the Season, as she did every year, unwilling to let go of those memories.