Page 12 of Too Wylde To Tame
“It’s delicious!” Delia said as she laid back on the soft mattress, moving her arms and legs as if she were making snow angels.
They were still laughing at her antics when Felicity departed.
Hurrying through her toilette, Charity washed quickly then, restored some semblance of order to her hair. Or at least some sad imitation of order. There weren’t enough pins in all of England to ever truly tame it. She donned a fresh day dress in a pale sea foam green trimmed with delicate ivory lace. About her neck, she wore a simple gold locket that had been a gift from her grandmother. Felicity had the ring that their grandmother had always worn. Those items, she supposed, were their talismans in some ways.
While she had been getting cleaned up, Delia had done the same. She was dressed in blue, her preferred color. “I suppose this as good as it will get until Marguerite arrives tomorrow with our maids in tow. I confess, I’ve become terribly spoiled living with her and having a maid to do my hair and tend my clothes,” Delia admitted.
Charity grimaced. “We are wretched, entitled creatures and our parents, if we have to return home to them, will be terribly disappointed in just how rotten we’ve become.”
Delia sighed, “I wouldn’t change it for the world. It truly has been lovely.”
“Let’s go down and join the others. How many gnats would you like in your tea? One or two?” Charity teased.
“Oh, no. No gnats for me. Bees are preferable. It’s the honey, you know? It makes the tea sweeter.”
Charity was still giggling about her cousin’s jest when they reached the lawn and the other assembled guests. In an instant, her mirth fled. On one side was Lord Jameson Dartwell. On the other was Lord Frederick Dartwell. And she had no desire to speak to either one of them.
* * *
Frederick heldhis breath when her gaze settled on him. He didn’t delude himself that he had hurt her feelings as those were likely not engaged, at least not for her part. The idea that she might have equally succumbed to infatuation at first sight, while pleasing, was highly unlikely. But if Jameson had done as he’d said and intercepted both his gift and his missive, her pride would be terribly wounded. And while it was only supposition on his part, he imagined that Miss Charity Wylde had pride in abundance. He did not necessarily see that as a character flaw.
Before he could take a single step in her direction, Jameson was calling out to her, his voice filled with false cheer. It was all for show, undoubtedly just to grate on his already frayed temper even more. No doubt his brother was intentionally goading him in the hopes that he would behave so boorishly that Miss Wylde would want nothing more to do with him. Then all the apologies and explanations in the world would make no difference at all.
But he was heartened by her reaction to Jameson’s greeting. He saw her shoulders stiffen, and while she smiled, as was expected, the expression appeared somewhat pained. Perhaps she was not as fooled by his false charm as Jameson believed. It would not surprise him. She had struck him as being very bright and not so naive as many young women he had met. Thought, she had endured five seasons sitting on the edge of ballrooms, watching men charm other ladies for their own amusement and pleasure. It was bound to have left her at least a bit jaded.
Rather than shout her name like a fishmonger calling out his wares, Frederick crossed the expanse of lawn to where she stood with her cousin. “Miss Wylde, I must make my apologies to you.”
She arched one eyebrow at him, her stare cool enough to leave him with a chill. “That isn’t necessary, my lord.”
“I very much fear that it is… an apology and an explanation are both owed.”
“You owe me nothing,” she insisted. “Consider the matter… forgotten.”
Not the matter. Him. She wanted him to understand that he was forgotten. But that was not something he could let stand. “Miss Wylde, my brother will tear himself away from his friends in a moment and then foist himself upon you… perhaps you do not want my apology or explanation, but if you take a turn about the lawn with me while I give you both, you will at least be spared his company.”
That bit of reason seemed to break through her icy disdain. “Very well, Viscount Welbey. I shall accept your invitation.”
Frederick offered her his arm, but she merely looked at it. Then, with her head held high, she stepped past him, leaving him to follow in her wake.
He wasn’t foolish enough to give up the one opportunity he had to set things right for something as silly as a power struggle. Dutifully, he fell in step behind her and let her begin the merry chase on which she would likely lead him. It only furthered his determination that she should learn the truth, both about him and his brother. Even if she chose to reject him, he couldn’t see her with Jameson. The life of indignity and misery that he would bring her was a punishment no woman deserved, but certainly not her.
SEVEN
Charity’s heart was hammering in her chest. She’d had no idea that he was here. When Felicity had told her that Lord Jameson Dartwell had been invited as a guest, she had failed to mention that his elder brother, Viscount Welbey, was in attendance, as well. She hadn’t wanted to face him. The moment she had seen him, the moment her gaze had settled on that strong, lean frame with his aristocratic bearing and patrician features, she’d thought only of retreat. It had taken every ounce of will she had not to turn and flee into the house so no one would see just how humiliated she felt to be in his presence when he’d so clearly played her for the fool.
Had it been some sort of game? Some sort of sibling rivalry where they competed for the attentions of the same lady? She certainly didn’t want to believe that but it seemed to be leaning in that direction. And her poor sister, hosting her first ever event, was smack in the middle of it. That more than anything else had swayed Charity to hold her tongue. Making a scene and causing a scandal at her sister’s house party was the last thing she wanted to do.
“I am truly sorry for the slight you suffered when I did not arrive for our appointment,” he said softly.
He sounded so sincere, she thought bitterly. “You mean when you left me sitting in my drawing room waiting for you to arrive as you had promised? And when after more than an hour you had not shown nor sent word, your brother suddenly appeared? Tell me, do the pair of you do this often?”
“Do what often?”
“Fight over a woman like dogs over a bone?” She couldn’t keep the snappish disdain from her words, regardless of her intent to do so.
“That isn’t what I’m doing,” he answered, halting his steps. “Look at me, Miss Wylde. Look at me and see that what I am telling you is the truth and that it is for your benefit only, regardless of whether or not you elect to forgive me.”
Reluctantly, Charity turned to face him. The other guests were several yards away. Close enough, she thought to hear them talking to one another, but not so close that anything they said to one another might be overheard. “Go on then. Tell me what it is that keep you away for a fortnight.”
