Page 3 of The Husband Gamble
“I beg your pardon,” she said.
“It was my fault,” replied the gentlemen. The passage was not well lit, but his eyes caught the light from a wall sconce, and beneath them she could see his grin. “I had my eyes shut,” he confessed.
His candour charmed her into some of her own. “I was hurrying, because I have been hiding in my room for so long, I was afraid I was late.”
He bowed. “Perhaps you will allow me to escort you? May I introduce myself, since no one else is here to perform the office? I am Hythe.”
The Earl of Hythe. As a girl, she had been made to study Debrett’s, though her father only permitted her the one Season, so until this year the knowledge had been entirely superfluous. He was waiting, a slight smile curving his lips. She curtseyed, delaying the moment of recognition when his eyes would glaze over and then he would give her the cut direct. “Miss Amaryllis Fernhill,” she said, clearly.
It was not quite that bad, though there was no doubt he recognised her name. His bow of acknowledgement was significantly less deep and his eyes cooler than they had been when he was laughing with her a moment before.
“At your service, Miss Fernhill,” he said, his voice managing to be chilly, reserved and ridiculously appealing all at the same time.
“Lord Hythe,” she acknowledged, allowing her own voice to cool as she put her fingertips on his arm. If he owed her merely a modicum of courtesy, she could return the same. She was, after all, a viscount’s daughter, even if one of questionable reputation.
Why was a man like the Earl of Hythe from a noble family who had apparently never had a stain on their cartouche at one of Lady Osborne’s matchmaking house parties? Rilla would have to contain her curiosity. Even if he had not shown his disdain, that was not the kind of thing one asked a reserved gentleman.
He surprised her by making conversation. “Have you been to one of these house parties before?” The question could be borderline rude, since it implied that she had been trying and failing to find a husband. On the other hand, there was never any point in becoming annoyed about the truth.
“Never. In fact, this is only my second house party of any kind,” she told him. “Which is why I was reluctant to leave my room.”
* * *
This was a disaster. Had he known Miss Fernhill was going to be here, Hythe would never have come. They had never been introduced and she obviously did not recognise him, but he knew her.
At first, he had not realised, in the dim light of the passage, that it was her he found unexpectedly in his arms. She fitted. It was a ridiculous thing to say, and a worse thing to feel to the depths of his being. What did it mean? That she was the right height for him? That she was lithe and curvy, all at once? That something inside him recognised her, even before he knew who she was?
She had captured his attention from the beginning of the Season. Hythe had asked after her and discovered her scandalous mystery. No Belvoir countess could possibly have such question marks about her past. Hythe kept his distance, even though he had been drawn to her again and again when they happen to be at the same entertainments.
Now he was to be in her company for a week. Hythe should be calling for his carriage, and riding away from this place as fast as he could. Not promenading the lady through the house, as if she was any other gentlewoman.
Of course, he would treat her with every courtesy, even if having her so briefly in his arms had prompted thoughts that were far from polite. Apart from the necessary manners of a gentleman, he would simply have to avoid her, which would surely not be hard. Others would be at the house party, would they not?
It was with some relief that Hythe showed her into the drawing room, where a number of people had already gathered.
“Oh good,” said the lady on his arm, “my cousin is already here.” Hythe followed the direction of her gaze and saw the elderly matron who had been Miss Fernhill’s chaperone throughout the Season. Good indeed. His duty was almost done. He could safely conduct the lady to her cousin and hopefully stay far away from her for the remainder of the week.
It was only polite to linger long enough to acknowledge the introduction, then Lady Barker asked about his sister, Sophia, and so he remained to answer questions about the children. Lady Osbourne, their hostess, came and whisked Miss Fernhill away to introduce her to several of the other ladies, and Lady Barker saw somebody she knew and excused herself.
Now Hythe had exactly what he wanted; freedom to look about the room and contemplate the gathering. Why, then, was his gaze drawn inexorably to where Miss Fernhill was sitting on a sofa with another young lady, accepting introductions to various of the gentlemen?
But I saw her first, said some unruly ungovernable part of Hythe. Nonsense. He was a Belvoir. He was the Earl of Hythe. He would not forget what he owed to his name.
* * *
There was something appealing about the Earl of Hythe. Rilla had always thought so. Even when she was a shy little wallflower making her debut in London for the first time. He had been far too young to be looking over the Season’s crop of brides, but too serious minded and responsible to fit in easily with the boys of his own age.
This Season, she had seen him time and again, though they had never spoken. He had been unaware of her existence when she was a girl, and remained oblivious again this year.
Which was probably just as well, since her past made him as distant as a star floating high above lesser mortals. Rilla had no idea what he could possibly be doing at one of Lady Osborne’s house parties. Surely, the Earl of Hythe needed no assistance to find a bride? Undoubtedly, he had to beat candidates off with a stick.
His motive was none of her business. She should be focusing on the other men. Men without a pristine family name. Men for whom her five thousand pounds outweighed where she might or might not have spent the last few years.
Once she had concluded she should avoid the man, Lady Osbourne confounded her by assigning Lord Hythe to escort Rilla in to dinner. Surely Lady Osborne did not expect a man like the very proper earl to make a match with someone with such a large question mark over her reputation? Whatever Lord Hythe thought about partnering her, he was gentleman enough to keep it to himself.
Indeed, she could not fault the man’s manners. Very properly, he applied himself to conversation with her during the first course, starting with an innocuous hope that the weather, never certain in November, might nonetheless be kind to them for the next week.
“If not, my lord, Lady Osbourne has been telling the ladies we shall amuse ourselves indoors,” she replied. Since he could not be a suitor, she allowed her true feelings to colour her next remark. “The delights she describes include charades, hide and seek, dancing, sharing our musical talents, treasure hunts, parlour games, and theatricals.”
