Page 9 of Too Wylde To Tame
The boy nodded and made for the street, crossing carefully to avoid the traffic and street sweepers. Once he was far enough away that anything Jameson said would be well out of ear shot, Jameson climbed the steps and rang the bell. Within seconds, a distinguished man of middling years answered the door.
“Lord Jameson Dartwell to see Miss Charity Wylde,” he said, handing the man his hat.
“I will see if Miss Wylde is available, my lord. Please wait here,” the butler answered with a touch of disdain.
Jameson wasn’t bothered by the man’s disapproval. He’d been shrugging off such judgement for well over a decade. It no longer bothered him.
After a moment, the butler returned, “Miss Wylde is awaiting you in the drawing room, my lord.”
Following the butler up the stairs to the drawing room, he felt a frisson of excitement. It had nothing to do with Charity Wylde. Pretty enough, but of no real interest to him. But she was of great interest to his brother and that made her useful. Even without the wager, he would have pursued her for that reason alone.
“Good morning, Miss Wylde,” he said as he entered the well appointed room. Lady Marguerite had no children and was very wealthy. Maybe there was more merit to pursuing the girl than just getting his brother’s goat. “I saw these and I simply could not help myself. They were so beautiful and I could not imagine any lady so deserving of being surrounded with beautiful things as you are.” As he handed over the flowers, he carefully pocketed the attached card.
“This is too much, my lord! Good heavens. I’ve never seen so many roses at one time. Whatever possessed you?” She was staring at the flowers not with awe, but suspicion.
He had to do something to win her over. Long ago he’d learned that the best way to lie was to begin with a truth. “I know, Miss Wylde, that my reputation precedes me. Most young ladies would refuse me admittance to their homes and rightly so. While half of what is whispered about me is true, I can assure that at least half is not. I am no villain. I only want a a chance to prove that to you. Please… take the flowers. They put you under no obligation to me.”
She was softening. He could see it. After a moment, she buried her nose in one fragrant bloom and a smile teased her lips. She wasn’t all that bad, he thought. Was she wealthy? Lady Marguerite certainly was. But he knew nothing of her parents and whether or not her father would have a hefty sum to bestow on his daughter. Perhaps wedding her was worth more than merely winning a wager or disappointing his brother.
Lifting her head, she offered a slight smile. “Thank you, my lord. They truly are lovely.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Wylde.”
She waved a hand to the settee opposite her, letting him know exactly where she expected him to sit and that it was not near her. “I was not expecting you today.”
He nodded. “I know. I should have asked permission but I couldn’t bear the thought that you might refuse me… and I—Miss Wylde, may I speak frankly?”
“I certainly hope that you will,” she said, her tone quite skeptical.
“I find you quite charming, Miss Wylde. Indeed, I was taken with you at first sight. And, if you would permit me, I would request your aunt’s permission to pay court to you.” He made it a point to sound as meek as possible. He didn’t care if she agreed out of pity, only that she agreed.
“You may ask her, my lord, but I doubt that she will agree. As you’ve said, your reputation is hardly persuasive,” Miss Wylde replied primly.
“And would you be disappointed if she refused me?”
Miss Wylde didn’t immediately answer. When she did, it was not what he would have hoped to hear. “I cannot answer that. I know little enough of you to have an opinion either way.”
“Then I will do everything in my power to sway you, Miss Wylde. I have been a scapegrace in the past, I admit. But I am a changed man. Sadly, the world does not see that. They only see my past sins—both factual and fictitious… I hope that you will at least offer me the benefit of doubt.”
“We shall see, my lord.”
Jameson rose, bowed to her and, at the last moment, seized her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Until we meet again, Miss Wylde.” He needed to charm the aunt first. Then he would work on the niece. And he’d make sure that there were enough calamities at Hamden Court to keep his brother busy and far from town in the meantime.
FIVE
Two Weeks Later
Charity wincedas the carriage hit another rut in the road. They were not very far from Randford Hall, but it seemed the last few miles on that rutted, bumpy lane might well be the death of her.
“Good heavens! This is awful,” Cordelia muttered. “Why couldn’t we stay in town for a bit longer?”
Because if she’d had to fend off one more unwanted advance from Lord Jameson Dartwell she might very well be driven to violence.But Charity didn’t say that. Cordelia had not attracted a single suitor, much to her cousin’s chagrin. To bemoan the fact that she had one she did not want would have been quite cruel, she felt. So she remained silent on the subject and puzzled out what it was about Lord Jameson that bothered her so.
On the surface, she should have been flattered by his attentions. In the beginning, she supposed that she had been, though she had never entertained him seriously. Regardless, he was young and handsome, with a well connected family. But there was gossip about his gambling, about his debts, and about his scandalous behavior with other women. Of course, any man could change and he swore that he had. It was always said that reformed rakes made the best husbands. Still, she could not make herself think of him as a true candidate for the role of husband.
Charity found herself shuddering at the very thought of being married to him. Aunt Marguerite had, much to her dismay, agreed to let him call with an open invitation so long as he behaved properly. And he had, thus far. But every time she was in his presence, Charity could not help but feel there was something inherently dishonest in his interest. So she’d fled London with her sister in tow, making for Randford Hall and the house party that her sister was hosting. She had been promised that the house would be filled to the brim with eligible bachelors. Of course, that also meant other unmarried young ladies would also need to be invited. Country house parties were nothing more than a confined setting for matchmaking.
At the thought of bachelors, she remembered her single dance with Lord Frederick Dartwell. Viscount Welbey. She hadn’t pegged him as dishonest, but then he’d failed to show despite his promises to the contrary.
