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Valerian forced his attention to his brother’s question. For some reason, Jasper took delight in his proposed role. Would his brother never learn or would he always be wooed by danger and bizarre circumstance?
Bizarre indeed, but perhaps the answer to their eminent demise. As startling a notion as Jasper suggesting a feasible solution, the idea could work…or, if the whole plan backfired, their irrefutable ruin would continue. Either way, the proposition presented a better fate than wasting away in their dilapidated country home. His stomach growled loudly as if to concur. He swung his eyes to his brother, the hint of a sly smile matched by Jasper’s encouraging grin, yet Valerian kept his reply between his teeth.
Chapter Two (#ulink_21fc7a2a-8f4a-510e-8966-405f8a5422ea)
Wilhelmina Montgomery settled near the cross-paned windows of the sitting room and watched a turtledove hop into a nest on a larch branch grown too closely to the glass. How comfortable and cozy the graceful bird appeared. A shiver rippled through her in contrast; the front room of Aunt Kate’s town house was drafty at best, although she didn’t notice the chill in complaint. Her eyes flittered to each corner adorned with feminine detail. One glance bespoke no gentleman lived thus, embroidered pillows and a floral Brussels weave carpet most notable. Yet other decorations declared a soft elegance. Small watercolor landscapes spotted the walls and delicate porcelain figures sat patiently on a shelf. Her aunt had opened her heart and her home and for that Wilhelmina would forever be grateful. Without her aunt’s generosity, she and her sister, Lavinia, would have no place to call home.
The fear of displacement smothered her heart in a hasty swath of regret. Security remained paramount, no matter their meager lifestyle proved difficult at times. Lavinia’s wellbeing and their sparse financial situation threaded back to the carriage accident that took their parents’ lives two summers past. Wilhelmina would never forget the horror of that evening, a night that left her with no mother or father, and a sister clinging to life.
Melancholy brought fresh tears to Wilhelmina’s eyes and she looked toward the gray London sky, her forlorn mood echoed in the threat of rain. With determination, she dismissed the feeling, unwilling to succumb to sadness. Exhaling firmly, she settled her hands upon the commonplace book resting on her lap and opened the cover with care.
Bits and pieces of her life were glued to each page in the thick leather volume preserving cherished memories. A pencil sketch of her as a baby, notes received on birthdays and special occasions, even her first dance card lay pasted in remembrance. She bypassed these pages in a flurry until she reached the final leaf in the book where an artist had drawn a miniature family portrait. Her mother’s expression warmed her heart and her father’s outlandish mustache restored a smile to her face. Wilhelmina missed her parents dearly and the simple happiness the four of them once shared. So much had changed.
Here in London, away from the modest country home that had been sold and settled, Wilhelmina and Lavinia led unadventurous lives. Aunt Kate spent money with caution, as she should. As daughters of a conservative peer, the sisters brought little to fortify the coffers. Lavinia’s needs were costly, but Wilhelmina begrudged not one penny.
At times a spark of despair for what her sister and she would never experience, the glittering ballrooms and opulent gowns, dared to woo her, but she swept it away with the same forceful purpose as one attended a flyaway ember from the fireplace, extinguished and forgotten. Her life was not designed for wishes and fanciful thoughts. Duty and responsibility were more important.
“Whimsy.”
Her aunt’s sudden beckon voicing her childhood name banished any remnants of sadness and Wilhelmina rose to greet the elderly woman at the sitting room door, happy for the diversion from her maudlin reflection.
“Good morning, Aunt Kate. Let me help you with the tea tray. Whysoever are you carrying it instead of the housekeeper?” Wilhelmina spoke in a loud clear voice to compensate for her aunt’s hearing difficulties, a natural progression of advanced age. She strode forward, arms outstretched and ready to assist with the silver, but her feisty aunt outmaneuvered with finesse.
“Do not fuss over me, dear. I’m fine.” Aunt Kate placed the tea tray on the buffet table before she continued. “Rose’s arthritis was bothersome this morning, so I went upstairs to Livie’s room for a dab of medicinal ointment. Then I insisted on carrying the tea caddy so Rose might apply the cream and rest while her joint pain subsides.” Her aunt paused and carefully filled two cups with tea before adding a spoonful of sugar to each. “While abovestairs, Livie asked if I might fetch you. She had trouble sleeping last night.” A concerned tsking followed the admission. “If only the doctor could ascertain how to permanently relieve the painful cramping in her legs.” Worry creased Aunt Kate’s brow before she raised troubled eyes. “Your sister is tired and hopes the sound of your voice reading one of those lengthy poems you favor will lull her into a peaceful nap.”
“Of course.” Wilhelmina smiled with delight. “And do not worry about her condition. Livie’s health has improved so much of late.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed as well. The therapy is worth every penny if it restores her strength and mobility. Her legs are becoming more reliable with each passing day and I believe the kneading of her muscles and the nurse’s insistence that she walk the room as exercise is the remedy. Thank heavens.”
Wilhelmina’s heart pumped a heavy beat. Without her aunt’s unfailing support, who knew what would have become of them? But how would she ever repay her aunt’s generosity and concern? Of late she’d considered ideas to generate income independently, but hadn’t any luck. As a lady, opportunities were limited and if she were to accept funds and the arrangement became revealed, she would shame her aunt more than benefit her obligation. Aunt Kate had shown only kindness and consideration, and as their only blood relation, Wilhelmina was very fond of the endearing woman, as was her sister. She could never bring embarrassment and scandal to her aunt’s doorstep.
The clink of china revived her attention and Wilhelmina replaced concern with relief. “I would be delighted to read Livie to sleep.” She turned to the bookshelf at her back and with the flick of her wrist tipped a volume into her palm. “Shall I share Byron, Blake, or Shelley?”
“That sounds like a poem in itself, although I’m sure anything you choose will suit. Livie and I wouldn’t know the difference between the three. We trust your decision.” Aunt Kate nodded with candid assurance.
“Perhaps I will teach her to recognize the subtle nuances between the poets’ styles.” Wilhelmina struggled to keep laughter from her voice.
“Then I’m sure she’ll find a restorative nap soon after.”
Warmed by her aunt’s teasing, Wilhelmina turned to the hallway and began the stairs leading to the second floor intent on seeing her sister well rested. She could never confess she’d memorized most of the poems before she’d sold her father’s book collection in an attempt to add to their meager savings. Sometimes she’d hold an open volume in her hands and turn the pages as she recited the poems of a different poet, giving the appearance of reading directly from the book even though it was the works of another. Livie never questioned why the book cover always looked the same and for that, Wilhelmina was thankful. She already carried the guilty knowledge many of her father’s volumes went to sale with pages torn loose, the same now glued firmly into her keepsake book downstairs.
She knocked on Livie’s bedchamber door and entered without pause. Her sister sat upright in bed, her hair tied with a bright yellow ribbon, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. Everything was as usual, the bright white of her night rail a stark echo of Livie’s complexion and a constant reminder her sister rarely ventured outside.
“You should be resting.” Wilhelmina’s admonishing tone was ruined by her grin. “I’m sorry you were unable to sleep. Did the cramping hurt terribly?” When she reached the bedside, she resisted the urge to stroke her sister’s blanket-encased legs. Livie had made significant progress the last few weeks and it was distressing to hear she’d suffered through the night. What if they’d reached a barrier in the treatment and the daily massages would no longer relieve Livie’s pain? What if their greatest fear, that the atrophy would become permanent, proved a reality? How would anyone prevent the vicious leg spasms that began directly after the carriage accident and tortured Livie each night until the recent treatments? They’d consulted every reputable doctor in London to no avail until they’d discovered the massage technique practiced by Dr. Morris and his nurse. Wilhelmina’s chest grew tight at the threat of Livie’s painful episodes returning. She’d reassured Aunt Kate downstairs, but in truth, the same fear lurked in her heart.
“What is it?” Livie’s soft voice drew her immediate attention. “Why do you look so sad all of a sudden?”
Her mind reeled for a suitable answer; anything to reassure Livie and sustain the pretense she harbored no worry, yet lying was a skill she’d never perfected. One glance in her direction and Livie would know whatever she said was untrue. Wilhelmina dropped her eyes to the poetry book clenched so tightly in her hands her knuckles faded white. “Nothing. Now should we get started?”
“Not yet.” Livie clasped her arm. “I’m worried about my treatments.”
Sister kinship. Only a year separated them and they knew each other’s thoughts, emotions and ambitions without effort. “You needn’t worry. I’m sure last night was a minor setback. I believe your condition is temporary and your strength will return.” It was difficult for Wilhelmina to say more when her own concern dared surface.
“No, not that.” Livie released a thorough breath. “These treatments are expensive and the cost of a full-time nurse and the various liniments must be devastating to Aunt Kate’s bank account. I overheard the doctor speaking to her about payment.” She splayed a hand toward the bedside table where bottles, lotions, and ointments littered the glass.
“Are you sure you heard correctly? Was the doctor complaining?”
“Oh, I am sure of the conversation. Dr. Morris needed to repeat it twice so Aunt could hear him clearly. I assume they thought I was asleep even though they’d moved to the hallway.” Livie sighed, her hands wringing the blanket in her lap. “How will Aunt Kate afford my continued care? What if these costly treatments are so financially straining it creates hardship? I couldn’t live with myself if Aunt Kate compromised her lifestyle to accommodate my disability.” Livie’s voice trailed off as she continued. “The chair is not so awful.”
“What are you saying?” Wilhelmina’s eyes settled on the wheelchair abandoned near the window and she shook her head as if to refuse the notion, her heart aching at the thought.
“I’m worried I will bankrupt Aunt Kate, when in fact she has been our saving grace. I could never live with myself if that occurred.” Livie’s voice dropped to a whisper and desperation tinged the words. “Oh Whimsy, what are we to do?”
“Sisters think alike.” Wilhelmina settled on the corner of the bed and in consternation ran a finger along the coverlet’s lace edging. “I’ve had the very same thought for a fortnight, but for the life of me I can’t find a solution.” She set the book of poems down and wove her fingers in her lap before unfolding them to smooth her skirts. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”
“Is it? We’ve sold everything we own that holds any value, the house, the land, Father’s books. I know we’ve discussed this before, but maybe we should sell Mother’s charm bracelet.”
Wilhelmina’s attention shot to her sister. “What? No. I could never part with it. I’m sorry.” She searched the room for a distraction. Anywhere to rest her eyes besides her sister’s entreating face. “Mother believed it to be special and wore it always. It’s all we have of her now.” She fought against the lump of emotion in her throat. Why did everything have to be so difficult? “I could never sell it.”
“I shouldn’t have made the suggestion. I’m sorry. It was a poor idea and a temporary one at best. The bracelet holds fond memories for me as well. I remember as a child counting the five charms as each dangled from the delicate chain on Mother’s wrist. I’m just at a loss for a solution to the dire situation we face.” She dropped her gaze to the coverlet and picked at a small bit of thread. Silence consumed the room for several ticks of the long case clock near the door.
“Well, there must be some way I can generate income to assist Aunt Kate and pay for your treatments. Remember the evening Father gifted Mother with the bracelet? It was during their surprise anniversary party. The evening was such a success, everyone declared me the most delightful hostess. It was a joyous gathering.” She managed a slight smile with the reminiscent memory. “Perhaps there is some way I can arrange events to fit society’s needs.”
“Mother and Father’s party was a small country gathering. However would you keep an undertaking as grand as a ton social from Aunt Kate? She may not mix with the most elite dowagers but somehow despite her hearing impairment, she manages to acquire every word of gossip at her weekly tea; every courtship, betrothal, and wedding. She lives for news of the latest liaisons.”
Wilhelmina rose and paced the length of the bed before she spun, the quick juxtaposition causing her muslin skirts to wrap around her ankles. “That gives me an idea. Back home, friends were forever asking my advice. What if I served as a matchmaker of sorts? I could obtain the most pertinent information about suitors and present it to a young lady wishing to marry. It would be a useful service, but also one the lady would want to keep secret, securing my anonymity.” She paused, but impatient ideas forced her words out in a flurry. “The exchange of funds would never need to be revealed to anyone beside the two of us, thus eliminating any real chance Aunt Kate would discover my involvement. Once I collected a tidy sum, I could pay Dr. Morris in advance for your treatments relieving the strain on Aunt Kate’s savings.” Her voice rang with determination and newfound enthusiasm as rigorous as her momentum.
“The idea has worth, although to truly earn money you would need to advise the most affluent members of the ton. How would you manage it? We’ve barely left the house since we’ve arrived in London. Not to mention, whenever you get exceedingly nervous you become snippy and unreasonable. Some might label it argumentative.”
Wilhelmina threw Livie an exaggerated glare and then punctuated the action with a tolerant smile. “Stated with great diplomacy, dear sister. My nerves will need realignment and popularity does present a challenge, but not being well known will work to our benefit. This idea has merit. I distress at keeping anything from Aunt Kate after she’s shown only generosity and kindness, but if it means we’ll ultimately be able to pay the doctor, the end must justify the means.” She would strive to do anything in her power to help Livie and provide security for more treatments no matter how farfetched the idea or quickly formulated, it did hold promise. “Perhaps this plan can work.”
“As long as you don’t bite anyone’s head off. I’m accustomed to your quick wit and know you merely mean to deflect your agitation, but men prefer docile women.” This time it was Livie who wore the smile. “Men want females who are obedient, agreeable, and ornamental.”
“Spoken by someone who’s never been courted formally.”
Livie’s eyes slid to the lap desk resting on a chair beside the bed. Her expression contradicted Wilhelmina’s words and a flash of curiosity lit anew.
“Stuff and nonsense, Livie, what have you been reading while housebound? I can’t fathom where you gather your ideas. Aunt Kate hasn’t a single gothic novel in her home and I know as I’ve searched thoroughly. I can only suspect your friends are writing you with sordid romantic tales. A woman should never disguise her true self to please a gentleman, whether it be intellect, wit, or beauty. What is the value of a relationship built on falsity?”1
“Of course, you are correct, Whimsy. I place my complete faith in you. It’s high time you’ve overcome your tendency to stay at home just because I’m confined to my bed. There is no reason both of us should suffer because my legs are disagreeable. You’re three and twenty and more than lovely. You should be dancing in ballrooms and flirting with handsome gentlemen.” One couldn’t ignore the wistful yearning in Livie’s final sentence.
The realization caused Wilhelmina’s tentative determination to take root. True, she’d grown comfortable in a quiet existence despite they lived in the city. Their countryside childhood provided no real exposure to the ton and the thought of mingling with strangers, making clever conversation and securing relationships, presented a terrifying proposition. Her sister had always proved the light in the room. Wilhelmina enjoyed the comfortable security of shadow. Yet, she had to be strong, for Livie’s sake. “I fear you misunderstand. I have no intention of flirting with any gentlemen, and the only dancing I will do is for the cause.” She took a breath, settling into the idea and wondering if it truly could solve their financial woes.
Her heart weighed heavy with the thought of experiencing society without her sister by her side, but their plan could ultimately bring about that end, launching Lavinia into a glamorous ballroom as a surefooted debutante. She took a long breath and focused on the purpose of their plan before matching eyes with Livie who leaned forward with eagerness awaiting her answer. “I don’t know if I share your unfailing confidence, but you’ll always have my loyalty.”
“Excellent!” Livie reclined against the pillows propped near the headboard. “We are not so worse for the wear. If you polished up a bit, I’m sure you’d fit in with all the jewels boasting extensive wardrobes and silk slippers. You’ll need to purchase a new gown and assume a mysterious hauteur; then you’ll have clients in no time, whether it be anxious mothers or impatient daughters.”
“You make it sound terribly simple and I hope you’re right, because I haven’t an alternate plan.” Wilhelmina glanced down to the skirts of her simple day gown, a pale shade of a former pattern with twice turned cuffs and hems. She mentally cataloged the serviceable gowns in her wardrobe, which took all of two minutes, and then settled at her sister’s elbow. She wrapped their hands together, palm to palm as if in prayer.
Livie moved their hands to her chest, Wilhelmina’s charm bracelet jingling softly with the motion and Livie smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with delight. “You’ll succeed, Whimsy, I feel it in my heart.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_034267b6-8466-5cd3-830c-5f49093554fc)
Two weeks later
Valerian St. David, disgruntled Earl of Dashwood, muttered under his breath for the umpteenth time, questioning his brother’s sanity and cursing the words used to agree to Jasper’s outlandish scheme. Ensconced in Lord Rigby’s study, trapped in a borrowed velvet waistcoat that strained the breadth of his shoulders and pinched the waist, he slid a finger beneath his too tightly tied cravat and wondered how much longer the marquess would keep him waiting. According to Jasper, the man was rabid to disentangle his son from a certain path of destruction, a betrothal to Lady Fiona, Lord Nobles’ eldest daughter.
Having been out of society for a number of years and possessing not a shilling to shine on his sleeve, Dash didn’t care a fig for the complicated liaisons created by the ton. He sought relief from the debtors. He needed funds. Period.
He exhaled a deep breath of frustration and took survey of the dark-paneled room in which he waited with impatience. The study smelled of worn leather and old money. His eyes settled on a large glass case hanging on the adjacent wall where a display of brightly coloured butterflies, their wings tacked firmly to the felt backboard, epitomized his situation. He was trapped. Pinned. Owned.
“Dashwood, there you are.”
“Rigby.” Valerian swung his attention to the stout, ruddy-faced gentleman who rushed into the room and neatly closed the doors behind him. Of course, he was here. It was where the butler had advised him to wait.
During the carriage ride Val had decided to allow Rigby the majority of the talking. It was vital his purpose remain disclosed to no one beside the marquess. Once Rigby explained the circumstances, and the fee was settled, Valerian would agree to the absurd arrangement. He had little choice. If only he knew the means by which Jasper discovered Rigby’s desire to disentangle his son. Perhaps then he would feel more prepared for the sham he stood poised to perpetuate and the indecent matchbreaking that would ensue.
But that was not to be. Jasper had arranged the clandestine meeting, neatly explained the barest circumstances, and rode off on One-Eyed Jack without further conversation. Val had not seen him in two days and that did not bode well for London or the Dashwood bank account.
“Let’s get right to it. My wife is at the shops and while she enjoys spending my money, one never knows. It’s wise to take care of this situation with expedience.” Rigby approached with a confident air.
“True.” Val strove to maintain monosyllabic retorts. The less he contributed to the conversation, the better. Besides if the marquess wanted the matter to be done with due haste, minimal small talk served a dual purpose.
“Odd circumstance, but I find myself against a wall and I don’t like the position. My son, Leonard, is smitten. Poor fool. Taken in mind and heart by Lady Fiona and I won’t have it. The chit may be the fairest debutante of the season, but her father is the biggest mutton-head in England. He serves in Parliament two aisles from my seat and boldly uses his power to support reduced taxation. I could never condone my only heir bound to a family whose patriarch displays such alarmingly shallow intelligence.”
“Indeed.” Valerian inclined his head in agreement and cleared his throat to disguise the growl of his objecting belly. He skimmed his eyes over the far wall. Was there a liquor cabinet nearby? A brandy would be welcome.
“The debate is fairly academic. No man in sound mind would sustain reduced taxes benefit the majority, yet since the Battle of Waterloo and the social upheaval opposing higher income tax, a large population has championed its abolition. Lord Nobles has led the battle cry against my efforts and that of my colleagues. His limited scope of foresight will cripple this country.
“Now the girl may be as foolish as her father, I would not know, having never conversed with her, but the consideration signifies little. My son believes the sun rises and sets on the chit’s existence and has ignored my advisement he end the relationship and set his cap at another. Impetuous romantic heart of his. A curse from his mother’s side of the family. Women are plentiful in London. Leonard will be happier with someone else. Are you following, Dashwood?”
“Yes.” It seemed the right thing to say though Valerian’s mind reeled with the ridiculous logic constituting the marquess’ objection. The man would deny his son a future of happiness for his selfish unwillingness to associate with the proposed father-in-law.
Not that true love existed.
Valerian believed it as tangible as a unicorn.
Caroline proved that true years ago.
For less than a breath, his heart ached with the memory.
“Man of few words, are you?” Rigby approached, his eyebrows drawn, his forehead furrowed. “You do perceive the undertaking? I need my son disentangled from Lady Fiona with haste. Any further delay and Leonard may do something rash or worse, Parliament may begin to see reason in Nobles’ blather. I can’t take the chance.” A frown puckered his brow. “Lord Nobles is mad as hops if he believes he can convince the House of Lords to pursue financial reduction on the subject of taxation. He is brash and loud spoken and I will not have my name associated with such weak-minded theory.”
“Understood.” Rigby didn’t seem to mind the pithy answer, too engrossed in his own objective.
“Indeed.” The marquess nodded his head in affirmation. “Leonard will escort Fiona to the Collingsworth gathering tomorrow evening. I’ve already secured your invitation.” He reached into his left breast pocket and produced a letter written on ivory paper. “Your service comes highly recommended. A resourceful endeavor, if I may say, and of course, there is the matter of your price.” Rigby’s eyes flared, as if he wished to communicate everything left unsaid. “While an extraordinary amount, I’ll stop at nothing to see this through. Your associate explained the delicate nature of your finances and the oddity of circumstance.”
Rigby paused and a flash of conflicted sympathy colored his eyes.
Val’s right brow climbed. Delicate nature? Oddity of circumstance? The very devil. What did Jasper suggest to the man?
“When our business is completed, you’ll be richer by five thousand pounds.”
Rigby’s last three words yanked Val from his Jasperian considerations, and this time he remained silent, any final comment dissolved by the prospect of financial recovery.
Wilhelmina lowered the brim of her bonnet a full two inches before darting a glance beyond the overstocked shelves of McMulberry’s Literary Emporium. In a stroke of pure serendipity she’d visited Bond Street Millinery two days previous and found herself unwittingly involved in a conversation debating the intricacies of tatted blonde lace. Lady Rigby insisted the finest fripperies were imported from Belgium, while her companion, a formidable dowager with silver hair, insisted the most delicate creations originated in Spain. Wilhelmina, having entered the shop to purchase an agreeable muslin befitting a matchmaker’s gown, was drawn into the argument by fault of proximity and asked to settle the issue. She had no opportunity to object as a swath of each trimming was forced into her hands. Wilhelmina had chosen Belgium lace much to the overt disagreement of the silver-haired dowager who stormed off mumbling her discontent. In turn, she’d won the allegiance of Lady Rigby, who’d come to the millinery to purchase a gift for her son to offer the lady who’d caught his eye. Without pause, Lady Rigby launched into a lengthy dissertation on her yearning for grandchildren, thus presenting Wilhelmina the ideal opportunity to extend her matchmaking services. With alacrity, Lady Rigby accepted.
Now, awaiting an assignation with a woman she hardly knew, Wilhelmina hoped the marchioness proved the answer to her prayers. If things went well, Lady Rigby might inform other exacting mothers, anxious to see their sons and daughters settled, and Wilhelmina’s temporary foray into the business world could flourish.
She huffed a small breath to steel her courage. It all equaled money for Livie’s treatments. This solitary reason eased Wilhelmina’s anxiety and smoothed her far ruffled feathers touting she should not be in public unescorted nor keeping secrets from her aunt. The clock on the wall showed half past noon. She would need to craft a solid excuse for having stayed away so long. Since coming to live with Aunt Kate, life had proceeded with a predictable and simplistic pattern. She occasionally joined the tea social, favored morning walks to take the air, and often read a book in the modest garden behind the town house. She could never be labeled a social butterfly, her range of activities fairly conservative.
Much to her relief, Lady Rigby entered a heartbeat later. They made eye contact and together melted into the back shelves of the biography section, guaranteeing a modicum of privacy away from the Palladian glass windows decorated with literary enticements aimed to lure customers.
“Thank you for meeting me under such unusual circumstances, but if there is one place I know my husband would never enter, it’s a bookshop. Never mind the biography section. He’s too interested in his own point of view to expand his mind with ideas from others.”
“I see.” Wilhelmina thought it best not to remark further. The sooner she concluded their agreement, the better. “As I explained, it is vital my identity and purpose be kept secret, so your subterfuge serves us well. Do not give it another consideration. Now how may I help you?”
Lady Rigby darted her eyes left and right and lowered her head, her voice a conspiratorial tone. “My son is very interested in Lady Fiona. He speaks of her ad infinitum, and I can tell from the twinkle in his eyes, she is firmly planted in his heart. Yet for an unidentifiable reason, the lady appears reluctant. Leonard couldn’t be more dashing, his cravat is always freshly starched and his manners impeccable. He epitomizes the proper gentleman.” Her face displayed unconcealed worry. “I would despair were he heartbroken, but with your assistance, perhaps the lady may come to recognize the fine prospect my son represents.”
Wilhelmina considered the situation, despising her need to manipulate the truth and interfere in love’s path, but in truth, she would merely encourage the couple. Notwithstanding her reservations, matchmaking was a common practice among the ton and this effort was purely for Livie’s benefit. Were Wilhelmina to achieve success with this scheme, his mother’s recommendation would reach far within social circles ensuring more funds for her sister’s care. Her conscious inched closer to assuagement.
“Of course, I’m prepared to pay you handsomely if you accomplish this goal.”
The mention of money was the very incentive to snap Wilhelmina’s attention to the forefront. The ladies finalized the remaining details and Lady Rigby strode away, mixing with the other shoppers exiting the bookshop as if planning her son’s future composed a daily occurrence.
Not so for Wilhelmina.
Her heart pounded a fierce beat at the thought of entering society under false pretenses, conversing with strangers, and encouraging their advances. Her reserved, quiet nature was never challenged in the country and as of yet, her experiences in London had been limited to Aunt Kate’s weekly tea social. Attending large-scale engagements reached beyond her comfort, but she’d manage for Livie. For both of them, truly.
Head bowed for fear of being recognized by an acquaintance, Wilhelmina concentrated on the tips of her slippers as she swept from the bookshop and pushed forward into the crowded London walkway. Anxiety took a stronger hold with each step on the pavement, echoed in the rattle of carriage traffic and vendors hawking their wares. A newspaper boy’s call for customers was accompanied by the steady bark of a dog near his feet. The crack of a leather whip, a horse’s whinny, the sudden laughter of shoppers as they passed her within the crowded bustle, suffocated from all sides.
Had she not been lost in thought or preoccupied with manufacturing reasons as to why her actions were justified, she may have paid more heed to her progression and noticed the large wheel ruts, filled with gravel and murky water, just beyond the curb. Lost in deliberation as the dense crowd flowed along the pavement and parted for no apparent reason, Wilhelmina forged ahead, unaware the smarter patrons had moved aside to avoid the roadway disaster. By the time she’d realized her mistake, it was too late. She splashed into the pitted grooves and lost her footing, her best slippers, stockings, and hems drenched on contact with London’s thickest muck. Arms flailing in panic, her gloved hand landed upon a solid wooden banister and without a glance, she held tight, scrambling to hoist herself up before she fell bottom down in the middle of the avenue.
Yet a second later, the railing gave way, and a string of expletives filled the air no matter the loud din of the city surrounding her. Exuberant cursing continued, but there was no time to consider it. A gentleman splashed into the puddle beside her, the weight of his intrusion splattering muddy water across her cheek and chin. She sputtered an exclamation over his tirade as he chided her desperate attempt to gain leverage by use of his…arm.
Oh dear.
Wilhelmina met his gaze and her breath caught. London had resumed its bustle, dismissing the two muddied people knee-deep in dirty water near the edge of the walk; still she could hear nothing but the heavy thud of her heart.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” A warning sounded in his voice as the words lashed her ears in a thunderous tone.
Oh, but she did. Paralyzed, Wilhelmina dropped her eyes and a heavy knot settled in her stomach. Muck squished between her toes. The grit of gravel and roadway scratched through her wool stockings. Her slippers were forever ruined and with no money to purchase a new pair, her careless, clumsy mistake left her utterly bereft. Yes, she knew the predicament well.
“Did you hear me?”
The impervious tone of his menacing question demanded her response. Wilhelmina shifted her attention to the right and skimmed her eyes from the top button of a black velvet waistcoat, higher over a tight-knotted cravat. She paused a breath to note the deep ridge in his firm set chin and then continued upward where her eyes lingered on his mouth for a reason she could not name…perhaps she waited on his next word.
A constricted sound emanated from his throat, clean shaved but for a shadow of dark whiskers and she shot her eyes straight to his, absorbing the fierce condescension evident in his intense glare. Despite the livid anger, his eyes glowed like the midnight sky, as blue as lapis lazuli, filled with glistening specks of light, part mystery and invitation, each framed by long lashes, black as coal, creating a brilliant contrast to the remarkable shade of his irises. Eyes that appeared furious.
