On the other hand, that was exactly why she had proposed the agreement in the first place. To be courted by the Earl of Carlington, even for a short time, would boost her in the eyes of the ton — and show her uncle that he shouldn’t give up on her yet. One more Season, especially if the Earl brought her even slightly into fashion (or to be honest, less out of it), and surely she could find a quiet country gentleman that would suit her perfectly well.
She’d given up her dreams of a love match. Swallowing her pride and letting the insult go in favor of escaping a marriage she would hate seemed like a much smaller price to pay.
It’s just for two weeks. Her freedom was worth that much. He was just another arrogant gentleman of the ton. She’d been handling them for almost three years. She could deal with him.
Still, even she had limits.
“I will overlook your insults on one condition, my lord.” She might be willing to do this, but she was not going to let his insults pass without consequence. “You said yourself that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. We come to this bargain as equals. Treat me like one.”
Martin bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “You have my word that I will treat you with every courtesy from now on.”
Teresa shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. You wouldn’t have questioned the intentions of a fellow gentleman the way you questioned mine. I don’t care about ton manners, but I do want to be treated the same way you would treat one of your peers.”
“Fine.” His tone was flat and for a moment she worried she had stepped too far out of bounds. Then she scolded herself for worrying. He didn’t have to like her overly much for their bargain to succeed. “What information do you need to know?”
Not necessarily irritation then — or if it was, he had decided to work past it just as she had. It didn’t matter to her. As long as he could convince Society and her aunt and uncle that he was courting her for two weeks, she didn’t mind if they remained on frostily polite terms with each other.
“First of all, what qualities do you consider to be the most important in a wife?” She needed more information to begin narrowing the field.
Martin shrugged slightly. “Good breeding. Pretty enough. Someone who can survive spending most of the year outside of town.”
Teresa waited, but no further answer appeared to be forthcoming. The silence stretched until she couldn’t hold the question back anymore. “And…?”
“And what?” Martin raised an eyebrow at her.
“What about who she is as a person? What kind of interests she has? If she prefers to talk over the breakfast table or dine in silence?”
Martin frowned. “I fail to see why that matters.”
Teresa nearly sputtered. “Of course it matters! How else can I tell you who would suit you best?”
“I need a wife who will produce an heir without making my life unpleasant. That’s all that matters.”
“And how can I tell you who is least likely to ‘make your life unpleasant’ if you don’t give me some guidelines of what that would entail, my lord?” She emphasized the last two words, giving vent to some of her frustration with his obliviousness.
“I don’t know. Someone who can string together more than two complete sentences on a topic other than fashion or the current gossip in the ton? Someone who would be happy with the two of us leading relatively independent lives? I’m not looking for a love match, Miss Selkirk.” His expression was neutral but Teresa had the distinct impression that he was trying to keep his teeth from grinding. Well, so was she. “I am looking for a woman who understands that marriage can be a mutually beneficial arrangement and approaches it the same way.”
It was clear she wasn’t going to make any further progress on this issue. “Very well then. Will you be attending the Rossboroughs’ masquerade? There will be plenty of opportunities there for you to meet some of the candidates I have in mind.”
The ball was in three days, enough time for her to put together a list of possible candidates. The lack of specifics wouldn’t make her job any easier, but perhaps after one evening with some of the debutantes he would begin to understand that he needed to provide more details about his preferences.
“I believe I received an invitation, although I hadn’t replied.” From the look on his face, Teresa had the feeling he would much rather decline the invitation.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to him. “Accept it and arrive early. Some of the debutantes you will want to dance with do actually have competition for their dance cards and even being an Earl won’t win you a spot if you don’t arrive before the dancing starts.” She kept her tone brisk and businesslike. As long as they kept to business, she could handle this.
“And when will I know who I should be asking to dance?”
“Charlotte never misses an opportunity for social advancement. She’ll be there early, which means we can talk when you arrive.” If nothing else, Teresa could rely on that. She’d be there with plenty of time, and keeping track of his impressions of the various debutantes and figuring out who to recommend next would provide her with something to do during the ball.
She certainly wouldn’t be dancing.
“Then I’ll accept.” His eyes caught hers, the green depths flashing fire in the sunlight. “Keep in mind you will need to save space on your dance card for me as well.”
“What? Oh, for the bargain. Of course, my lord, although I don’t think it’s at any risk of filling.” It certainly hadn’t any time in the past two years.
Still, the thought of stepping out onto the dance floor with him again was a little unnerving, even if she needed to for this charade to be believable. Dancing with him the night before had made her feel alive — and not just because it had been too long since she’d set foot on the dance floor. Even just sitting next to him now made her uncomfortably aware of her own skin. She’d never experienced anything like it before, and she wasn’t sure what she thought of it.
“Any further instructions, Miss Selkirk?” His tone was mildly ironic, one eyebrow raised in her direction. Teresa chose to ignore it.
“I believe that’s everything for now.” She could be just as coolly civil. “Unless you have something more to add?”
Shaking his head, he twitched the reins and the horses leapt forward again, clearly pleased to trot again. The paths in the park had filled during their discussion, the ton out to be seen for the afternoon before the evening’s social whirl began. Martin adeptly maneuvered the phaeton around one of the slower barouches before turning back onto the city streets again.
Teresa was relieved when her aunt and uncle’s house finally came into view around the corner. Martin pulled up lightly on the reins and the horses slowed to an easy stop. As the groom jumped down and around to the edge of the phaeton, she turned to Martin and offered him a polite nod. “Thank you for the ride and the discussion, my lord. I trust this is the start of a productive relationship for both of us.”
“I look forward to seeing results, Miss Selkirk.” Holding the reins in one hand, he offered her his other as the groom moved into position to help her down from the phaeton. “Until the next time, then.”
He tipped his hat at her as the groom sprung back up behind him. Teresa bobbed in a quick curtsy before she turned to climb the stairs to the door which swung open at her approach. Jennings must have had someone watching for her return. She looked back over her shoulder to catch a quick glimpse as he signaled the horses, admiring the horses one last time as they sprung into movement.
Even if the man made her want to grind her teeth, he did know his horseflesh.
“Your aunt requested your presence when you returned from your outing, Miss.” Jennings motioned a footman forward to receive her pelisse and bonnet.
“Thank you, Jennings.” She knew better than to request five minutes to freshen up before attending to her aunt; Charlotte did not like to wait. It was always best to go in armed with good news in a situation like that.
F
ortunately, hearing that the Earl of Carlington might still call on Teresa after taking her out for a drive today would certainly qualify as such. Bracing herself for the inquisition, Teresa headed up to see her aunt.
Chapter 7
Teresa infinitely preferred balls to musicales. Or dinner parties, or picnics, or any of the other smaller gatherings the ton used to fill the time during the Season. Ironic, given her status as a wallflower, but it was easier to fade into the background in a crowded ballroom. She felt far more exposed sitting in a chair in the music room, even if it was in the back row and she was unlikely to draw attention there.
That didn’t prevent Charlotte from accepting those invitations. Far from it. Her aunt might complain privately about how bored she was at these events, but the one time Teresa had suggested they go to the theater instead — or even stay home — the resulting lecture had made it very clear that the point of these events was not the music but instead to see and be seen and therefore acknowledged as part of the cultured elite in the ton.
Teresa hated it. She hated how superficial it was. She hated how uncomfortable she felt. She hated how hard it was to enjoy the music because of it.
Growing up, music had meant her mother playing on the harp or the piano. Occasionally she would sing, a warm alto voice that Teresa could still hear in her dreams. It had been a time for family, not a social event aimed at showing off skill or knowledge or connections and patronization.
At least the Ashburtons did insist that any musician who performed at their musicale had to be of the highest quality. If she concentrated hard enough, she could lose herself in the music. She might never be able to sing the arias like the soprano did — like her mother’s, Teresa’s voice was low — but she loved the soaring bell tones and how the woman’s voice almost danced with the piano.
It took a moment to register the movement next to her as the song drew to a close. Turning, she blinked as she realized it was the Earl of Carlington in the seat next to her.
She blinked again. He didn’t disappear. That argued against her seeing things, even though the Earl never came to musicales. It was the only thing he avoided more than balls. Every year, he would appear at a few small dinner parties, the very rare ball, and one night at the opera, in the Duke of Debenford’s box. As far as she knew, there were never more than six or seven sightings of him a Season, and none during the rest of the year. It didn’t make any sense.
Despite that, she could feel the warmth beginning to seep through her skirt where his leg brushed against hers. The chairs were squeezed together in order to accommodate the crowd — a crowd that had turned the room uncomfortably warm — but still, he didn’t have to sit that close. She shifted her weight to the side, trying to put some distance between them. Even that small touch had been enough to set her pulse racing; she didn’t need to have her wits scrambled further.
“What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her tone more a calm question than a hiss but was reasonably certain she failed.
He raised an eyebrow. “You informed me that if I wanted to find a wife, I needed to spend some time getting to know the potential candidates. So that I could tell you what my preferences were.”
Teresa could feel her jaw clenching and had to consciously relax it so she wouldn’t grind her teeth together. “I thought we had agreed that I would have a list of the candidates for you at the Rossboroughs’ ball in two days.”
He shrugged. “One of my friends pointed out that it can sometimes be easier to talk with the debutantes at an event like this. At least once the music is over.” Glancing toward the stage, he grimaced. “It will be over soon, yes?”
“Not a fan of the signora?” She would have thought he could appreciate the arias, based on his attendance at the opera, but maybe that was just for show the way her aunt insisted on attending the musicales.
“Her voice is good but I prefer my music simpler. Less embellished.”
Teresa raised an eyebrow. “The opera box each year seems an odd choice in that case, my lord.”
“Only if you assume all opera pieces are like that.” He leaned back in his chair. “But I do it for my friends, not because I find the music to my taste.”
“Oh.” Her memory belatedly reminded her that the box was always in the company of Lord Burrows and his mother — and Countess Somercote was well known as an aficionado of opera. It was equally well known that the family could not afford the expense of a box for the Season, and so she spent much of it attending as the guest of various friends. It was Teresa’s own fault for not realizing that Martin might fall into that category, although she hadn’t realized he was on such good terms with Lord Burrows.
A resounding piano chord crashed through the silence, marking the start of the final piece on the program Lady Ashburton had distributed to the guests on their arrival. Teresa hardly registered the music, her concentration now on an entirely different topic.
His appearance was a complete surprise, something she hadn’t anticipated at all. Then he’d sat next to her. His presence at two events in three days combined with his clear attention would certainly bolster the rumors of his courtship, even if he spent time talking to other debutantes. The tone had been set, something that even her aunt would notice after the surprise ride in the carriage the day before.
All of which meant there was even more pressure on her to deliver on her end of the bargain. She had every intention of doing so, of course, but she’d expected a little more time before needing to grant him a list of candidates.
Stop. Focus. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to ignore the solid body beside her and think. He had just said that he was looking to determine his preferences. She could use that. Because it was a relatively quiet night, most of the eligible young ladies who weren’t already attached were here — and that gave her a wide range of options to suggest for conversation. He might have more to say about his preferences after thirty minutes spent listening to Georgia Huxley or ten minutes after trying to get Olivia Mowbray to express an opinion on anything at all.
By the time the applause began, she had three prospects to steer him toward and felt much more in control. Having a plan always helped. It made it easier for her to keep the mask Society expected in place, where she was a perfect lady and didn’t show any emotions beyond the ones expected for a debutante. It was too bad she hadn’t learned how to do that before her coming out.
“So what shall we do now?” Even with the plan, his voice still startled her, coming as close to her ear as it did. “I assume there’s no dancing at these events, not with all the chairs set up.”
She shook her head. “No. But Lady Ashburton has some food and lemonade down the hall and encourages her guests to stay after the entertainment is over, to meet with the musicians and mingle. Since there aren’t many other parties tonight, most will take her up on that for at least a little while.” She eyed the stream of older gentlemen heading for the door. “Well, some will anyway. The young ladies will, along with their mamas and any gentleman interested in making a match this Season.”
“Like me.” He added the words she’d bit back at the last second.
“You’re not the only one.” She waved her hand at the room, which remained more than two-thirds full. “There’s not that much time left in the Season, relatively speaking. Everyone’s anxious to make a match, or risk having to wait until next Season.”
“So where do I start?” He tilted his head toward her, an ironic nod to the expert.
Teresa opened her fan and swept it in the direction of a tall brunette before bring it back to flutter in front of her. “Georgia Huxley is on her second Season. She’s the youngest child of Baron Huxley. The family isn’t particularly well-off, so she hasn’t attracted the attention of the fortune hunters, but her father has made it clear that she won’t come to the marriage penniless.”
He stared at her. “And…?”
“And what?”
“There has to be something else going on, if s
he’s on her second Season.” His tone was dry, as if this sort of thing should be obvious. Teresa had to resist the urge to bristle. As if he didn’t remember that this was her third Season out…
“Georgia is a perfectly affable young woman.” Turning, she threaded her way through the crowd, trusting Lord Carlington to follow. It didn’t take long to locate Lady Huxley, who wore a feathered headdress despite standing nearly as tall as most gentlemen.
Waiting for a lull in the conversation, she offered a curtsy and motioned behind her. “Pardon my interruption, ma’am, but Lord Carlington was just commenting to me about how much he admired Georgia’s poise. I thought I could offer you an introduction-?”
As she expected, no further prompting was needed on her part, although she didn’t miss the look Martin tossed her way before he was hustled off by Lady Huxley in the direction of Georgia. She was forgotten, of course — not that she was surprised. No competition could be allowed, even from as unlikely a source as she.
Content that it would take him at least twenty minutes to extract himself from any discussion with Georgia Huxley, she went in search of some lemonade.
*
After nearly an hour of enduring small talk with several debutantes and their mothers, Martin’s current preference could only be described as “none of them.” Teresa had provided him with introductions to three different girls but little else in the way of guidance, saying that it was better for him to form his own opinions without her insights.
Well, now he had opinions. In at least one case, a very strong opinion. The thought of facing Georgia’s unending chatter across the breakfast table was enough to drive a man to drink. At breakfast. Never mind the rest of what needed to be done that day.
From the amusement in her eyes when she’d inserted herself in the conversation in order to excuse him and escort him to the next name on her list, he rather suspected that Teresa had known that would be his reaction too. The little minx hadn’t said anything though, simply introduced him to another mother and allowed him to be whisked off for yet another conversation, this one with Olivia Mowbray. Of course, that conversation had repeatedly drifted into silence as Olivia looked anywhere but at him, apparently too shy to respond to any of his questions with more than one or two words.
Entangled with the Earl (Tangled Threads Book 1) Page 6
