Punishing His Ward (15 page)

She simpered up at him and Edwin barely
smothered his laugh as Wesley stared at her, then his mother, in
complete horror.  It was only as the breathless miss looked up
to meet his eyes again that he blanked the expression from his
face.  

"Miss Whyte," he said, bowing over her
hand.  "May I also introduce my friend, Lord Hyde."

"My lord," Miss Whyte said in
acknowledgment, but without the simper.  It was obvious that
the Countess had informed her that Edwin was ineligible as future
husband material.  Which was a relief; he only had to deal
with the bored matrons that Wesley normally preferred, who were
looking for a sensual distraction from their husbands. Debs no
longer had any interest in him whatsoever.

"Miss Whyte was just telling me how
much she loves to dance," the Countess said, absolutely
irrepressible, despite the glare that her son was giving her over
the young lady's head.  Ignoring him completely, she gave the
young miss an encouraging smile, before turning it onto Wesley
himself.  "My son is a wonderful dancer."

"Yes, but as you see I can't desert
Lord Hyde and leave him bereft of all company."

"Oh, I can certainly keep Edwin
company," the Countess said, her gaze sharpening.  "I had
something I particularly wanted to speak of with him."

There was nothing Wesley could do at
that point; his mother had neatly trapped him into a position where
his options were either to be unconscionably rude or to ask the
young lady to dance.  And Wesley always did what was proper,
especially in front of his mother.

Covering up his chagrin with a bow,
Wesley held out his hand to Miss Whyte.  "Well then.
 Miss Whyte, may I have the pleasure of this
dance?"

"Oh yes, my Lord," she said
breathlessly, eyes shining with anticipatory pleasure that bordered
on being predatory, despite the fact that she couldn’t have missed
his reluctance.  It was that kind of behavior that made Edwin
eternally grateful that he had Eleanor; even when she had first
been presented, he couldn't imagine Nell behaving like
that. 

The set had just started, so they'd
barely missed a step, and Wesley led the young woman out onto the
floor to join the other couples.  

"There was something you wished to
speak of with me?" Edwin asked, rather curious now.  He
couldn't think of anything the Countess might wish to say to him
that she couldn't say in front of others.

"No of course not, don't be dense.
 I just needed Wesley to dance with Miss Whyte."

Edwin laughed at the Countess' high
handed ways.  "Why?  You can't imagine he would seriously
consider a schoolroom miss like her, not even next Season when
she's out."

The Countess shook her head.
 "Really Edwin, your lack of experience in the marriage mart
is appalling.  My son is bound and determined to marry a
proper young chit, at some point in the future, but he'd be
absolutely miserable with the kind of milk and water miss he'd
undoubtedly pick out for himself.  And no matter what he
thinks, having a mistress, or even several, on the side can't make
up for that.  Once he’s been forced to interact with a few of
them, he'll realize his intolerance for them and my Cynthia will
look even better by comparison."

"Your Cynthia?"  Edwin asked; he'd
been following the Countess' logic up to a certain point but she'd
just lost him completely.  "What does she have to do with
it?"

"Why, she's perfect for him, of
course!"  The Countess waved her hand at the dance floor where
it was perfectly obvious to Edwin, knowing his friend as he did,
that Wesley's attention was focused far more on his ward than on
the chattering Miss Whyte.  "She's clever, she's lively, she's
far more interesting than any of the usual misses - Nell excluded
of course, and he's already interested in her but he's resisting.
 The twit."  She snorted.  "I drag him all the way
out of London to Bath so that he could see her before any other
real competition engages her attention and he can't see what's in
front of his face."

"I thought you were despairing of her,"
Edwin said, thoroughly startled and slightly in awe.  He
hadn't realized how devious the Countess was.

"Well I was, a bit," she admitted,
continuing to watch the couples whirl around the floor, looking
rather calculating.  "She's a handful, but that's what makes
her perfect for Wesley.  He'd never be happy with a woman who
didn't have a sense of adventure and the gumption to indulge in it.
 Cynthia has a bit of maturing to do, but I'll be here to
guide her, and Wesley needs to snap her up before some other, more
discerning and ready to act, gentleman realizes what a treasure she
is.  Of course, the more young misses I can push at him that
drive him batty, the more he'll appreciate Cynthia."  That
last was said rather contemplatively, her eyes already roving
around the room as if looking for her next decoy.

"My god..." Edwin stared at her in
complete wonder.  Thank goodness he'd had the sense to shackle
himself to Nell immediately, and he was even more grateful that his
mother preferred to stay out of London.  Although, he didn't
mind giving up his bachelorhood and rakehell days for his wife, so
perhaps his mother wouldn't have resorted to such
straights. 

Although, he could see Eleanor's mother
doing so if she thought that he was blind to Nell's charms. 
After all, her own father had been the one to approach him.
Obviously no one felt he needed as delicate a hand as Wesley
had.

The Countess smiled as she watched the
couples on the dance floor.  This particular set required some
switching of partners throughout the dance, and Wesley had
masterfully maneuvered himself and Miss Whyte so that they would be
trading with Mr. Bright and Cynthia.  

"Watch.  A few more dances with
empty headed misses and a few quiet spinsters, and Wesley will
realize that a young lady like Cynthia is exactly to his
temperament."  And with that, the Countess swanned off again
as the last notes of music were played, presumably to find Wesley
another partner before the next dance started.

******

It was utterly demoralizing to realize
that being an Earl still meant trotting at the behest of one's
mother, Wesley decided, four interminable dances later.  She'd
practically thrown Miss Whyte at him, followed by Miss Lovelace,
Miss Smith and Miss Prentice.  Although Miss Prentice wasn't
so bad compared to the other three; she was on the shelf at eight
and twenty, but he still thought she'd make some other chap an
admirable wife.  At least she had a brain in her head which
was more than could be said for his previous dance partners, even
if she was too quiet and retiring for him to find her intriguing.
 

Taking the initiative, he secured his
mother's hand for the next dance, rather than waiting for her to
foist the young lady at her side on him.  With every evidence
of delight, she followed him out onto the floor. 

"Madame, just what do you
think you are doing?" he asked, finally showing some of the pent up
aggravation that had been building all evening.  Even before
his mother started lobbing young misses at his head, if he was to
be honest about it.  Trying to look out for a suitable husband
for Cynthia was turning out to be harder than he'd expected.
 And finding a distraction for himself, even more so.
 The fashionable, bored matrons of the
ton
 were apparently all seeing
out the end of the Season in London, not Bath, and there wasn't
even an attractive young widow around.  Not a likely prospect
in sight, and so he'd had nothing more to do than watch as Cynthia
danced with gentleman after gentleman, none of them quite right for
her.  "When you threatened to descend upon London to find me a
bride if I didn't make my way to Bath, I presumed that meant my
presence in Bath would stay such attempts."

"Oh, I'm not serious about any of these
young ladies," his mother said, her light laughter not at all
reassuring.  "Although after Miss Whyte is presented, you
might think of taking another look at her, I'm sure she'll have
matured by the next Season.  I'm just getting my hand in,
ensuring that I'm up to snuff for next Season."

"Next Season?" 

"Well of course.  I fully expect
Cynthia to make a match before then, which means that I'll be free
next Season to concentrate entirely on you."  She beamed at
him, as if her words weren't the foretelling of doom to come.
 "After all, you are the Earl now and there is the succession
to consider."

Good Lord, he could actually feel the
walls closing in about him.  "There's no need to concern
yourself with the succession just yet, Mother, I have plenty of
time.  There's Mathew and Vincent after all."

"Your brothers don't want to be the
Earl," she said with a sniff.  "Even if either of them were
suited to it.  No, Matthew's army mad and Vincent's obsessed
with art and living abroad.  They'll be reassured to hear of
your marriage and subsequent heir."

There really wasn't an argument against
that, as she was completely right.  Wesley cast about for some
other excuse.

"I'm sure I can manage the business on
my own, Mama, as much as I appreciate your intentions."

"Not from what I hear about your
acquaintances," she said, her tone making it clear that the gossip
of his various female acquaintances - none of which could be
considered marriagable - had definitely reached his mother.
 "You'll need me to help you make the right sort of
connections for that.  But don't worry, I'm going to spend the
next year gathering as much information as I can so that we can go
into next Season quite prepared!"

Feeling as though the floor was
decidedly tilted, Wesley stumbled through the last few steps of the
dance, earning a reproving look from the Countess as he tripped
over his feet.  Although it was quite a bit of time away, next
Season suddenly seemed to loom far too closely.  He couldn't
even quit London and retreat to his estates to avoid his mother and
her schemes; there were too many of his responsibilities now tied
up there and he would need to be present for Parliament regardless,
not to mention that he didn't doubt his mother would find some way
to coerce his presence even if he balked. 

Unable to stomach dancing with another
empty headed chit after his mother's pronouncement, he stole
Eleanor for the next dance and then managed to procure another
dance with Cynthia.  At least he could talk to them.  By
the time his dance with Eleanor finished he was feeling a bit more
like himself although she was looking at him a bit
curiously.

Cynthia, on the other hand, didn't seem
to have any hesitations about questioning him.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked,
peering at him as if she didn't recognize him.  Actually, he
was feeling much better now that he was dancing with her, having
successfully avoided his mother again, but he wasn't going to tell
her that.

"Quite."

"You don't look as though you are.
 Although you're decidedly less pale than when you were
dancing with your mother," Cynthia said.  Wesley had to laugh.
 When it came to polite conversation his ward was abysmal, but
she was entertaining.  Then again, he found it rather
refreshing that she didn’t languish behind miss-ish airs, and most
other gentleman probably did too.

"My mother... my mother..."

"Is making you dance."

"Yes."

"Don't you like dancing?"

"It depends upon the
partner."

She seemed to think that over for the
next few steps as they went apart and then came back
together. 

"Do you like dancing with me, or did
you only ask me because I'm not as bad as the young ladies your
mother is choosing for you?"

Wesley had to laugh.  Brazen,
that's what she was. A young lady should never ask such a direct
question.  "Dancing with you is utterly preferable to dancing
with them."

"That's an evasion, not an answer," she
said, frowning up at him.  

"Clever baggage."

"Well fine then, I don't want to talk
to you either."  And with that, she put her nose in the air,
barely looking at him as she gracefully made her way through the
steps.

Which only made Wesley want to make her
talk again.

"What kind of man do you want to
marry?"

Silence.

"Cynthia."

She looked at him in a rather
significant way and he sighed.

"I asked you to dance both because I
didn't want to dance with another one of those useless chits and
also because I like dancing with you.  You're quite graceful
you know."

The brilliant smile he received in
return made something inside his chest do a strange flip even as
his breeches tightened in front.  

"I'd like to marry a man who doesn't
bore me."

"Is that hard to find?"

"Yes and no.  I've met quite a few
men who don't bore me, but none of them seem interested in
marriage."

This time Wesley growled
in response to her smile.  She didn't even seem upset at the
fact that she obviously attracted men who wouldn't make her a
respectable offer.  Just amused and possibly slightly
interested.  Well she would have to wait to accept carte
blanche from any of them until after he found her a husband.
 Although if he found her one that didn't
bore
her, then perhaps she wouldn't
even be inclined to.