A Provision For Love (Entangled Inheritance Book 1) Page 10

  Mrs. Cumberlin poked an elbow in her brother’s side. “I doubt William is without reproach. I could tell you more than a few stories of his mischief.”

  Lord Egerton’s eyes widened, and I felt a smile tug at my lips.

  “I should love to hear such stories,” I told her. Anything to make this seemingly perfect man more human.

  “Enough, Eliza. Do not scare her away.” The duchess, accompanied by her son, led us to the picnic.

  Grandmother clung to my arm as we navigated the maze of tree roots to the shaded tabletop—overflowing with trays of tea sandwiches and cakes, tea and fruit.

  “Miss Linfield,” Lord Egerton said, after assisting his mother and sister. He gestured to my chair. “Please allow me?”

  I appreciated his eagerness to assist me at the table as he had the carriage. A future duke, yet Lord Egerton refused to leave me to the care of servants. The warmth of his breath touched my neck as he bent forward and helped adjust my chair. Our eyes locked for another moment as he slowly stood. Kindness. Gentleness. Childhood mischief…Lord Edgerton was growing more depth by the moment.

  “Should it be my duty to begin a topic of conversation?” he asked as he took his own chair. “Or would—”

  “Absolutely not,” his sister scolded. “We ladies have important things to discuss. You are present for decorum only.”

  I shared a smile with him over the table, imagining Henry saying something very similar as Mrs. Cumberlin.

  Conversation sprang effortlessly. The duchess was well-spoken and sociable, but gentle and unassuming. Lord Egerton’s sister, on the other hand, was refreshingly opinionated and bold. She combated Grandmother’s bluntness in the most charming of ways. The combination of personalities made the afternoon pass far quicker than I could have imagined when our carriage first stopped, exposing the intimate party.

  Grandmother mentioned the time and Lord Edgerton stood. “Before returning to the carriage, would you care to take a walk?”

  The glances exchanged across the table sent heat racing across my cheeks, but I soon found myself walking under the flowering trees on the arm of the marquess.

  The sun filtered through the canopies above, flashing light against the ground. I closed my eyes for a long moment, listening to the leaves rustling against one another. I could almost imagine I was home or at Bridgestone, away from the insanity of London.

  “Miss Linfield, I feel it my duty to inform you of my intentions.”

  My eyes snapped open. Any sense of comfort fled. “Your intentions?”

  Nervous laughter spilt from his lips. “Four balls at Almack’s, one dinner party, a handful of calls to your townhome, and meeting my mother today…did you not see where this was going?”

  He was right; I was absurd to question his intent. Many marriages were founded on less acquaintance. I clasped my hands behind my back. Lord Egerton had proved to be an impressive match—wealth, title, manners, looks, a pleasant family. Yet, I had not allowed myself to consider him as anything more than a means to Bridgestone. I had not seen the man beyond the checks against my grandmother’s requirements.

  A ray of light lit his face, and he squinted down at me. “Miss Linfield, I do not expect you to turn away other suitors. I am not asking for exclusivity. I am, however, asking you to consider our association with more serious implications. We have danced and had pleasant enough talks, but you are holding back.”

  He was far more perceptive than I had originally assumed. I considered his words. Was not my entire purpose to secure a husband? The breeze brushed against my cheeks, and I licked my lips to keep them from drying.

  “Will you allow me to court you in earnest?”

  I sucked in a breath, suddenly aware of his nearness. He was impossibly close, and I peered around the trees in an attempt to catch sight of the rest of the party. They were blocked from our view. “I am honored by your attentions, Lord Egerton.”

  “But?” he asked, reaching to take my hand.

  I shook my head. “I only hesitate because of inexperience. You, my lord, are accustomed to season after season. Yet, you must know I am inexperienced in matters of…in matters of the heart.”

  He touched my cheek. The gesture was timid, and if I had not seen it myself, I might have attributed it to the wind. “Your consideration is enough at this point.”

  His hand fell back to his side, and I swallowed hard. My stomach twirled.

  In a single exchange, Lord Egerton had changed everything. My quest no longer felt a game of outwitting Henry in order to secure Bridgestone. A weight settled on my chest, and I struggled to breathe. Was I equipped to carry the load of another’s heart?

  In my efforts to fulfill requirements, I had forgotten to consult my heart. Did I, could I, care for Lord Egerton? And, why was I asking such questions? I had been trained for this moment. The marquess was the ultimate prize.

  Yet, a person was no prize, no matter how many times I had been taught such things. Lord Egerton was a living soul, seeking to reach out to mine. Was I ready to reach back in return? My head urged me forward, yet my heart hesitated.

  Chapter 14

  Does he welcome competition with manly zest, and rally to the challenge of a chase? This is good. He will never be a doltish bystander.

  “Another reading?” Mr. Perry asked, clapping his hands together. He scanned the room, looking from face to face. “Whom shall we call upon to favor us, Lord Egerton?”

  Miss Hawkins, seated next to me on the sofa, nudged me. She whispered in my direction. “I cannot stand performing poetry readings. I have no inclination to participate.”

  I nodded and uttered a soft reply. “I cannot claim to like performing either, but hearing others does amuse me.”

  “Perhaps a lady?” Lord Egerton asked, circling the room.

  The duke’s drawing room was three times the size of my grandmother’s in Mayfair and was made for the purpose of hosting grand events. Therefore, after dinner, Lord Egerton opted to take our party of eight to a smaller, more intimate, parlor instead.

  Since arriving in London, I had learned that relativity existed at all levels of society. Words that I had grown up speaking meant different things to different people. ‘Smaller’, for example, when used by a marquess and future duke, did not equate to ‘small’.

  I tapped my finger against my arm, taking in the splendor of the papered-walls. The covering almost looked to be brushed with gold. I shook my head, glancing at the marquess. For all his ways, he did not seem the least spoiled.

  Lord Egerton lifted a brow and looked back at me. “Not a single volunteer. Very well. Mr. Perry?”

  “Certainly. I have a plethora of recitations at my beck and call.” Mr. Perry moved to the front of the room. His waistcoat was as flowery as everything he wore, only this time in the literal sense. The purple swirls and pink roses of the fabric shimmered in the dim light. His expression, however, remained as genuine as ever.

  I could not understand the dichotomy, and I was inclined to think him vain. Does he preen in front of mirrors? Forget him. Harsh is the life of a wife condemned to live her days in the company of a vain peacock.

  “And the selection?” Henry asked, stepping behind the sofa and placing his hands near my left shoulder. He had hardly spoken a word since dinner. “Do not tell me it is another—”

  “Shakespeare,” Mr. Perry said, rubbing his hands together. “I only recite the classics, Mr. Thorne. Now, this particular selection comes from As You Like It.”

  Henry offered a low groan.

  “From the east to western Ind,

  No Jewel is like Rosalind.

  Her worth being mounted on the wind,

  Through all the world bears Rosalind.

  All the pictures fairest lined

  Are but black to Rosalind.

  Let no face be kept in mind

  But the fair of Rosalind.”

  Applaud erupted, except for the noticeably sulking man behind me. What reason did Henry have to a
ct so melancholy? I glanced over my shoulder. “Do you not think Mr. Perry deserves your applause, Henry? His recitation was excellent.”

  Henry stiffened, and he folded his arms across his chest. His brows raised near his scowl line. “Mr. Perry is an excellent performer. It is only his subject matter that I find so abhorrent.”

  “Subject matter?” Miss Clawson, one of the young ladies I did not know, gasped. Her light eyes rounded to the size of plums. “Do you not believe in love, Mr. Thorne?”

  “Not that kind.” He pursed his lips together.

  Lord Egerton rose from his chair and sauntered to the front of the sofa. “Pray, tell me what Shakespeare has gotten so very wrong is his love sonnet, Thorne.”

  “Love sonnet?” Henry laughed, but the sound was dark and full of disbelief. He raked his fingers through his hair before continuing. “Shakespeare knew nothing of real love. His plays are but exaggerations of temporary attraction and, perhaps, obsessions. Love has little to do with jeweled eyes and comparing one to pictures lining a wall of family portraits, Lord Egerton.”

  The marquess placed a hand to his hip, and silently surveyed Henry for a long moment. Lord Egerton then, quite unexpectedly, chortled. “You suppose you could compose a better sonnet? Or, at the very least, a better love letter?”

  “Indubitably.” Henry leaned closer. “Don’t you?”

  Tension, thick as molasses, rose between the two men. I desperately wanted to duck beneath both hands to escape their crossfire, but I stood instead. “Come, Henry is only speaking as a bachelor, Lord Egerton. No one means to challenge Shakespeare.” My pitch lifted on the last word, and I realized my last statement was much more a question.

  “Still,” Lord Egerton said, leading me to a chair at the front of the room. “Perhaps Thorne and I may provide some evening entertainment by challenging one another.”

  My stomach dropped, and I helplessly fell to the chair. “And your challenge involves seating me away from Miss Hawkins?”

  “My challenge requires a female judge, Miss Linfield, and I appoint you,” Lord Egerton said.

  The room erupted in cheers, as if the other guests were as oblivious as they were silent. I tugged at the ringlet hanging over one edge of my shoulder. I did not like the sound of challenge that Lord Egerton’s voice carried.

  Henry, looking like a stubborn toddler, joined my side. He smiled, but the effort appeared more of a sneer. “And what shall this challenge entail?”

  Excitement flickered across Lord Egerton’s eyes. “We shall each compose a love letter, addressed to Miss Linfield. They will remain unsigned and given in no particular order. Her duties will include reading the two letters aloud, and then appointing the winner.”

  Intuition suggested that I was more a player in their rivalry than I wanted to admit. Heat burned against my cheeks, and I placed my hands against them. I had no desire to be a part of this scheme, yet the marquess had left me little choice.

  “I accept the challenge,” Henry said, moving to shake the marquess’s hand. “I shall need ink and paper.”

  Lord Egerton moved to speak to a servant, who promptly provided the needed materials.

  For my part, I had morphed into an inanimate object, becoming no more than a curtain or furnishing. I neither spoke nor breathed. Or at least, my heart had slowed to a crawl. How was I to judge the letters? I had a strong inkling I would know the authors of each, and I did not wish to award either of them with the champion title.

  More disturbing was the room’s palpable excitement. Miss Hawkins’s features beamed; Mr. Perry could not seem to stop smiling; Miss Clawson tapped her feet against the floor in anticipation.

  Lord Egerton and Henry set about, in different corners of the room, burying their heads in their scratches against the paper. The others of the party conversed while the two men worked, but my lips remained immoveable and mute.

  Henry was the first to finish. He folded his paper in thirds and handed it to me.

  My gloves, already permeated with sweat, threatened to saturate the parchment.

  “I do look forward to your recitations, Ivy,” Henry said. He stared at me for a long moment.

  I held my breath. I eyed the door; I was fairly fast on my feet, or…I placed a hand to my head—this was the perfect moment to feign a headache.

  Lord Egerton dropped the plume to the credenza and stood. “Finished at last.”

  I gulped—too late to run, too late to pretend I was suddenly a weakling. My pulse quickened as the marquess rose and handed me his paper, folded just as Henry’s. I felt like I was back at Bridgestone, before coming to London, when I had become breathless by the smallest of jaunts. I detested my own weakness, and so, rather surprising to myself, I stood straight and lifted my chin.

  “Are we ready to begin?” My voice sounded unaffected and strong, serving to steady my shaky limbs. I shuffled the letters behind my back. “In no particular order and without the slightest idea of penmanship…”

  I took the letter in my left hand and began to read…

  Fairer skin I have never seen,

  Nor fairer eyes of brown and green.

  What can this heart’s desperation mean?

  For you, my love, remain my queen.

  For all your kisses, I do pray.

  My heart is yours, here on display.

  Can I more clearly but convey

  My love for you won’t want a day.

  If all the stars would but align,

  If you will only say you are mine,

  Then I would thank my God divine,

  For twisting my life in with thine.

  My cheeks burned flaming red, and I set the paper to my chair. Lord Egerton was seared into every piece of that poem, and I tried to remind myself that this exercise was only a game.

  Applause erupted, and Mr. Perry flew to his feet. “Bravo! I cannot recall ever hearing such a poem, let alone one composed so quickly. I give my admiration to whomever the author is.”

  I mistakenly glanced at Lord Egerton.

  His gaze was glued to my expression, and his lips curled in seeming satisfaction.

  “I can hardly bear to hear the second. I doubt such words could be bested,” Miss Clawson said, fanning her cheeks. “I think I would die if a gentleman were to speak such words to me.”

  I nodded, but I quite envied her fan; my own had been abandoned on the sofa when Lord Egerton had seen to appoint me judge of the letters. I took the other paper and cleared my throat. “And the second…

  Dearest Ivy,

  My sentiments cannot fit within the parameters of poetry, for my feelings have no set patterns, no set cadence, and certainly do not end in rhymes. In your goodness, I hope you will see past my human errors and my inability to express what I so keenly feel.

  Love is a fickle thing. Defining it is more difficult than naming it. To some, love is a set of fine eyes, to others a feeling in their chest. A bold few claim love can be defined by lists—a lover must be kind, thoughtful, and so forth. For me, however, love is something given, or—in the case of my love for you—something stolen.”

  I paused, squinting at the paper. His love for me? My gaze darted to Henry, who sat only five feet away from me with a serious expression. I knew Henry better than the others seated in the parlor, and I did not believe him capable of saying such things for a game. He was too honest, too good—at least he had been as a child, and nothing in his conduct thus far had proven otherwise. I scanned the last line again before proceeding.

  “You stole my love the moment I heard your laughter, the first time I saw your tears. For in each sound and sight, I found a piece of my own soul, a part that had been missing for far too long.

  Since then, I have seen your nature—how you wish to protect those around you, how you try to please others, how you are naturally happy and gentle and good—and I offer the entirety of my love to you now.

  A lifetime shared with you would not be enough. I would still long for more of your smiles, your gentl
e touches, your conversations, and support. I will never tire of your laughter nor your love of nature…

  nor your undeniable fear of turkeys.”

  Laughter spilt from my lips, and I covered them with my gloved hand. I would have to remind him that it was poor Tom Willis that was scared of the turkeys. I would have rushed in to save Tom, had Henry not volunteered.

  “Pardon,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I shall forever act as your protector against those vicious birds.”

  My voice cracked again, and I wiped a finger underneath a watery eye. Henry’s absurdity needed not the reward of my laughter. Yet, the humor rattled my chest, and I inhaled sharply, finishing the rest of his letter in one breath.

  “I beg you will return my letter with an answer of your affection.”

  “There, it is finished,” I said.

  Not a single word was uttered in response.

  The momentary humor of his letter fled, and I schooled my features. The eyes of the entire room rested on me and had, I supposed, for the duration of my reading. “I suppose I ought to award a winner then.”

  Henry leaned in the back of his chair, grinning. He looked far too satisfied with his efforts and far too handsome. In fact, I was tempted to claw at his smug expression. How could he be proud of himself when he had clearly set out to humiliate me?

  I swallowed hard. “The first letter, of course.”

  Lord Egerton took a bow, and the company cheered—everyone except Henry.

  “Now, Mr. Thorne, tell me again how you could best Shakespeare,” Mr. Perry said, chuckling. “I do not think a single one of Shakespeare’s plays involve mention of turkeys.”

  Henry locked eyes with me. “Yes, but then again, I believe my letter had the greater impact.”

  “Oh?” Lord Egerton said, picking up his poem to examine it. “Can you honestly say that?”