A Provision For Love (Entangled Inheritance Book 1) Page 6

  He frowned. “I do not think it possible. You command my compliments as if you were an enchantress.”

  “Miss Linfield.”

  I spun at the feminine voice of Lady Sefton. My name sounded substantially better coming from her.

  “I have come to introduce you to another man, my dear. Lord Egerton, Marquess of Egerton and future Duke of Pemberton.” Lady Sefton winked at me. “And Lord Egerton, meet my dear friend, Miss Ivy Linfield.”

  Lord Egerton—I well remembered that name. Before me stood the man Grandmother and Miss Worthington had prepared me for, a man that held wealth, titles, and connections. However, both of my guides had failed to mention one small detail; Lord Egerton was attractive, astonishingly so.

  He stood over six-feet tall, and his athletic figure matched his dashing bright smile. I could not recall seeing a more perfect set of teeth. Those characteristics alone would have been impressive enough to catch my attention, but his blond hair and blue eyes…I felt as if I was staring at a painter’s imaginary portrait. I was tempted to run my hand against his arm to see if he were truly there.

  I curtsied, aware of the heat rising at the back of my neck. I prayed it did not rise to my cheeks. “A pleasure,” I said.

  He bowed, all the while maintaining eye contact. “Please tell me someone has not already claimed your next set.”

  My heart skipped. I pressed a palm against my chest in an attempt to steady it. “Not yet. Are you asking, Lord Egerton?”

  He grinned, forcing his entire charm against my weakened state. He took a step closer and spoke softer. “Do you doubt it?”

  Lord St. Vincent cleared his throat. “Egerton, I have not seen you at the club for some time.”

  Lord Egerton chuckled and offered his hand. “I admit, I have not been to the club for some time. My business keeps me away.”

  “Business?” Lord St. Vincent’s mouth drew up in a horribly condescending smile. “What does a marquess and future duke have to do with business?”

  My eyes widened, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

  “I imagine you would think my life entitled and without responsibility or obligation.” Lord Egerton clasped my hand, whilst still addressing the smirking man beside me. “However, I oversee the care of tenants and farms, properties and investments, and, more importantly, my parents.”

  I grinned the moment I stepped toward the dance floor. The marquess had set the viscount into a sulk—and rightfully so.

  “St. Vincent does like to try his hardest to best me,” Lord Egerton said, leading me to the line of women. “I hope you will not think I am bad, especially after such a short acquaintance.”

  I laughed. “Not at all. I think you handled the situation with excellent humor.”

  His smile faltered. “I am relieved to hear it. I so hope that you and I will get along, Miss Linfield.”

  “I believe we will.”

  A matronly woman scooted next to me. Her piercing laughter startled me. “Goodness, Lord Egerton, you are on the wrong side of the aisle. Ladies here, men over there.”

  “Oh, is that how it works?” he said, feigning confusion.

  The woman swatted his arm, giggling uncontrollably once more. “You always are so amusing, Lord Egerton. I feel I might die of laughter. Have you seen my daughter this evening? She’s somewhere over…”

  Lord Egerton’s posture turned rigid, and his nose pinched. He wore no smile and shook his head at me.

  I almost choked on my saliva. I cleared my throat in an attempt to recover.

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Livingston, but I must—as you mentioned—join the men across the aisle.” He took his place across from me, and he wiped a hand across his hairline in seeming relief.

  We danced in a cloud of other dancers, spinning and promenading. I was ill-prepared for the heat of a full ballroom and the way my ballgown clung to my every perspiring curve. I nearly darted toward the open windows for reprieve when the dancing ended, dragging Lord Egerton behind me.

  He chuckled, rubbing a hand against his cheek. “Miss Linfield, you are liable to win a footrace at that speed.”

  I blushed, falling back in an instant.

  “Please, do not stop on my account. I have always admired the nimble set.”

  I smiled, but there was something about the way he spoke. I felt much younger than my eighteen years.

  We reached the window, and I fanned my cheeks as an excuse to avoid conversation.

  “Tell me,” he continued, apparently unaware of my embarrassment. “How long have you been in London? I do not recall seeing you before tonight.”

  “One week,” I said, looking out into the night. Even the flowers and perfumes of the room could not cover the stench of the street. I retreated; sweat was preferable to the smell of horse droppings and sewers. “And, I suppose you will not be surprised to hear it is my first season.”

  His lips curved slightly, but any mockery from moments earlier dispersed. He released my hand. “I am not surprised in the slightest, Miss Linfield, but not because of your footrace speed to the window. I can tell a new face in the ton instantly.”

  “Can you?” I narrowed my eyes. “Are you that well acquainted with high society?”

  Lord Egerton folded his arms, leaning closer. “I cannot claim to remember every member of the ton. Rather, I have learned to recognize something about those not long in society. When you have been in London for multiple seasons, a certain staleness settles on activities such as this—at least for many. You, on the other hand, seemed quite taken with the grandness of this room, the liveliness of the orchestra and dance steps, and you have not yet learned the art of turning away the likes of St. Vincent.”

  I gasped. “It is an art?”

  He nodded, flicking his chin toward the center of the room.

  I dared to follow his motion, and dread stabbed at me. There, headed directly for us, walked Lord St. Vincent. I turned back to Lord Egerton. “And what, pray, is the study of such mastery?”

  “That is a topic that only ladies can inform you about, though I have some sneaking suspicions. Perhaps if I linger, St. Vincent will get the gist?” He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “This should prove diverting.”

  Matters were only made worse when I spied Lady Sefton accompanying a third man toward me. I inwardly cursed the mourning tradition. I wished for Grandmother’s blunt tongue in a moment like this. She would have cleared away suitors—even the charming ones like Lord Egerton—and I might be able to think past my perspiration and beating heart.

  Lord St. Vincent carried two cups of punch. He reached my side and offered one to me. “Miss Linfield, you seemed overheated, and I thought a drink might be just the thing.”

  I took it, tempted to down it in a single swallow.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear. I had to make one more introduction before the night was through,” Lady Sefton said. Her eyes moved from each of the three men circled round me, and her lips settled into a sly smile, as if my horrendous predicament was just what she had planned. “Mr. Perry, it is my honor to introduce you to Miss Ivy Linfield. I was quite close to her mother.”

  Mr. Perry bowed.

  I curtsied, trying to ignore the other set of men’s eyes. The new stranger was decidedly fashionable. His clothing choices were bold, even a bit outlandish—certainly finer silks and embellishments than Lord Egerton, the future duke. I noticed his hazel eyes and handsome face only after studying the intricacies of his overcoat and cravat.

  “Miss Linfield, I was on good terms with your grandmother’s husband, Lord Barrington. He was a mentor of sorts to my father. I offer my whole-hearted condolences,” Mr. Perry said, offering a kind smile.

  I exhaled. Despite his extravagant style of dress, Mr. Perry seemed genuine. “Thank you. Percival was truly good to all he knew.”

  Mr. Perry nodded. “Yes, I quite remember my first meeting with him. I was but twelve years old, and Percival had come to visit my father in a business-advisory role. He caught
me throwing rocks in the pond and challenged me to a competition of skipping.”

  Warmth spread to my cheeks, and I smiled. “That sounds just like him.”

  Mr. Perry nodded, smiling in seeming recollection. “I believe he bested me by at least four skips.”

  Lady Sefton lifted a brow at me. “Well, I can see you are already fast friends. Please excuse me. Mr. Thorne has seen fit to arrive just at the closing of the doors. My fellow patronesses are liable to ban him if I do not intervene.”

  Any relief I felt disappeared in an instant. The only thing that could possibly make my predicament more complicated was Henry’s assessment of the gentlemen before me.

  “Perry, a pleasure to see you again. I had not heard you were back in London already,” Lord Egerton said, though his expression looked far from pleased. “How is your father?”

  “Made any more outrageous speculations?” Lord St. Vincent asked, smiling far too widely.

  Mr. Perry ignored Lord St. Vincent. “I arrived only two days ago, and Lady Sefton insisted I come tonight to meet her dear protégé, Miss Linfield.”

  All three men turned to me.

  “Lady Sefton seems to take particular interest in you, Miss Linfield. You must count yourself fortunate, for Lady Sefton is one of the gatekeepers of high society.” Lord St. Vincent’s tone was dry, and I doubted he meant a single word of praise.

  My lips parted, and my mind raced. “Yes, she was close to my mother.”

  “And your mother is…?” Lord St. Vincent glanced around the room. “I quite missed that introduction.”

  I winced. “She is dead.”

  Silence fell upon our small company. I was sorely tempted to flee. Why had I spoken so bluntly, and why had Lord St. Vincent seemed set on bringing up only the very worst types of conversation?

  “My condolences,” Mr. Perry said again, though he shook his head at Lord St. Vincent. “I share the loss of my own mother, and I offer my sincere sympathies.”

  I released a breath. How long had I been holding my breath? “Thank you, again, Mr. Perry. I promise my conversation does not usually require so many condolences.”

  Mr. Perry smiled, and this time it was in actual humor. “Yes, I believe you, Miss Linfield.”

  Lord Egerton cleared his throat, and his teasing tone returned. “Miss Linfield is quite accomplished in exercise, if her nimbleness on the dance floor is any indication.”

  Lord St. Vincent’s eyes lit. “Yes, I was just telling her moments ago how charmingly she lifts her right foot. Or was it her left? Perhaps I may have the honor of another dance. I seem to have forgotten—”

  “You commented on my right,” I said with finality. I would not endure his presence for another dance if I could help it. I downed the entire cup of punch, refusing to converse another second without something to dampen my nerves.

  Lord St. Vincent waited, hand outstretched expectantly.

  “Thank you,” I said, placing the cup in his hand instead.

  “And how else do you spend your time, Miss Linfield?” Mr. Perry asked.

  My eyes widened. Oh, how I longed for the men—even a single one of them—to turn their attention away from me. “I enjoy music, gardening, painting—though I profess I am an amateur in that regard—”

  “Impossible,” Lord St. Vincent stepped between me and Mr. Perry.

  My jaw dropped. Lord St. Vincent took every chance he could to compliment me, all the while degrading the other men. His efforts were thinly veiled, if veiled at all. His actions screamed of pretension and inauthenticity.

  Lord Egerton placed a hand against Lord St. Vincent’s shoulder. “Can’t you see you are making Miss Linfield uncomfortable with your incessant flattery?”

  My vision blurred, and my head spun.

  “Nonsense. That cannot be true, can it?” Lord St. Vincent looked to me.

  “I—I…” I was almost certain I might faint.

  Henry bustled through the circle of men, taking my hand in his for a quick bow. “Ivy, I’ve just had the most diverting night. You must come with me this instant.”

  My eyes widened. “Henry, what are you about?”

  He laughed, pretending to notice the other men encircled around me for the first time. “Forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt. Good evening, Lord Egerton, Lord St. Vincent, Mr. Perry.”

  The men returned his greeting.

  “Thorne, I had no idea of your knowing Miss Linfield.” Lord Egerton frowned.

  Henry chuckled. “Know her? Ivy and I have been acquainted for the past twelve years, when my great-uncle married her grandmother.” He stole my hand in his, still looking to the others. “I beg all of your pardons, but I must speak with her. Dance with me, Ivy?”

  His exaggeration of our friendship caused my brows to lift. Yet, I could not deny the relief his offer provided. If only to escape the game of tug-of-war between the other men, I nodded. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  Henry pulled my hand to his arm, escorting me past the cloud of disgruntled men. He grinned. “How was I? Should I have gobbled as I did when saving Tom?”

  Realization caught hold, and my mouth dropped. “You are comparing a future duke to that of an attacking turkey?”

  Henry laughed. “He was quite ready to pounce, though I suspect his pecking would have turned against the other men. In fact, I would be wise to fear for my own safety, considering his current stance.”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Lord Egerton’s eyes narrowed in our direction. I wondered that Henry’s head did not have two holes burned in the back of it.

  I steadied myself against Henry’s arm. “Goodness. Miss Worthington did not warn me sufficiently.”

  “Vultures,” Henry said, placing his other hand over mine. “Fresh faces, especially ones tied to money, are sure to cause an uproar. Add your connections with Lady Sefton and your…”

  “What?” I stopped mid step. “My what?”

  He looked at me, seeming to contemplate. His gaze held secrets, and the candlelight caught each fleck of gold in his brown eyes. Goodness, he was mesmerizing—and altogether irritating.

  “Your beauty. I thought you knew.”

  “Oh.” I blushed for what had to be the hundredth time that night and looked away. After the whirlwind of introductions and competing gentlemen, Henry’s words caught me off guard. “I have not seen you since arriving in London. Grandmother tells me your townhome is only two blocks from ours.”

  “Yes, I have been meaning to call.” Henry took his hand off of mine when we reached the line. “But business has kept me away. Now that I have settled some matters, I fear you will see me more than you wish.”

  The absence of his hand atop mine left me with a stark emptiness. My brows knit. What had Lady Sefton and the other patronesses allowed to be added to that punch? Certainly something stronger than what was customary.

  Henry stepped across from me, and I studied his appearance. In his formal navy long-tailed coat, he looked entirely different from my rival at Bridgestone. His hair took on a darker shade in the candlelight. He had taken care in its style, but a couple of waves had disobediently returned to their preferred position, curling toward one eye.

  The first paragraph of Grandmother’s letter sprang across my mind:

  His hair should be neat but not too much so; there must always be one unruly lock that defies the comb and falls like a rebel on a handy forehead.

  Henry most definitely had unruly locks. I had experienced his laughter and his kindness. But did he have mountains in his eyes? I scoffed at the thought. Henry was my competitor, not an acceptable choice of husband.

  Yet, even in my resolve, my eyes continued to wander to Henry’s.

  Perhaps he did not deserve the full extent of my resentment; perhaps he was not entirely to blame for his good fortune of inheriting Bridgestone should I fail. I shook my head at such thoughts. I could not relinquish my distaste for a man that I was pitted against.

  Chapter 9
br />   Look long in search for a man who brings a gift when there is no occasion. Many men celebrate the standard holidays with traditional presents, but a man has true spirit when he gives a woman a pretty bauble just to see her eyes bubble with surprise.

  Grandmother remained unconvinced. Her expression appeared as stiff as her overly starched black dress. The color of mourning was rather fitting for one as bristly as she. She circled my room, stopping when she got to my dressing table. “Not a single note this morning.”

  The aroma from my bouquet of snowdrops did nothing to calm me. I pulled one from the pitcher and brought it to my nose. “I told you. The ball was a success. Lady Sefton introduced me to at least a dozen eligible men.” I paused, and my maid stuck pins into my hair. “Shall I invite Lady Sefton for tea? Perhaps she may recount last night’s festivities and then you will believe me.”

  My reflection taunted me; the elegant curls and twists, at the hand of my maid Pearl, appeared the very picture of an elegant and composed lady—blonde and a porcelain complexion, rosy cheeks and hazel eyes, dark lashes with the slightest curl.

  A reflection of my mind would have produced a much more scattered and tangled image—worries and uncertainties, doubt and discontent. I had mistakenly anticipated that my thinking would clear with rest. To my horror, the memory of Almack’s remained a ridiculous spectacle of Lord St. Vincent and Lord Egerton vying for my attention. Mr. Perry, though added to the mix much later, had only further complicated matters.

  I had done a poor job at giving any of the men hope.

  “You may relate your success all you like, but I will believe none of it until I hear news of gentlemen callers. It is the way of these things, particularly after balls,” Grandmother said, “You say Lord Egerton took interest? Posh. A duke would call.”

  Pearl patted the sides of my hair, nodding in seeming satisfaction. She stepped backward. “There you are, Miss Linfield.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Pearl. I shall wear the pink afternoon dress.”